


Matters of the Heart

by DM (dragonmist310)



Category: DCU, Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M, Mystery, Pre-Reboot, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmist310/pseuds/DM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Clark off-world as an ambassador to Earth, Conner has to watch over Metropolis. Though it should be straightforward, there appears to be something amiss with seemingly random crimes happening around the city. Conner has a hunch that they’re connected and calls in his best friend to help. But as the two of them spend time together working the case, Conner realizes that his feelings for Tim might not be what he had thought.</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976594">中文 Translation Available!</a>
  <a></a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scream in the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译］Matters of the Heart by DM（dragonmist310）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976594) by [IslandRabbitQwQ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IslandRabbitQwQ/pseuds/IslandRabbitQwQ)



> A map of Metropolis may be helpful to visualize all the various areas mentioned in this fic. The one I used was from [Superman: Secret Files 2009 #1](http://i.imgur.com/cGZpMno.jpg). It takes place pre-reboot, after Bruce has returned but before Tim has re-joined the Teen Titans.

Clark had insisted that it would be a good learning experience. He’d insisted that Conner was mature and responsible enough now to handle something like this. Conner wasn’t sure how right any of that was, but it felt great to have someone trust him with something so important. And it sure as Hell beat going to school. It wasn’t like he didn’t like school or Smallville, but there wasn’t much to do except schoolwork and chores. So yeah, it was nice to be able to fly around the skies of Metropolis, policing it in Clark’s absence instead of listening to a boring lesson on style and conventions in essay-writing or about Euler’s formula.

It was his second day on patrol and so far everything was pretty routine. Basic burglary attempts on a few homes and one on an electronics shop, a terribly-planned bank robbery, one mugging, and he got to bust a drug deal. Yesterday was pretty much the same but there had been a minor fire at a shopping center. It seemed pretty slow, all things considered. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen. There was that saying about the calm before the storm and Conner just hoped that this wasn’t those cases because if the “storm” entailed something like a giant alien thing suddenly deciding to attack the city… well, it wouldn’t end pretty.

Though for the time being, everything seemed alright. The police were on top of things anyway—not that there was much happening tonight either. He figured that he may as well get back home, though he kept an ear out for the screams of civilians as he flew through the darkened Metropolis sky, high above the lights and sounds below. In Smallville, everyone seemed to go down with the sun and get up with the sun, but in the city everyone operated on their own time. It was different, but Titans weekends in San Fran ensured that it was also familiar.

He was staying at Clark’s apartment with Lois and while sleeping on the couch wasn’t all that comfortable, it beat having to commute between Metropolis and Smallville. Not to mention that if there was an emergency, he’d have to be on scene ASAP so he figured that staying there was more convenient. He touched down on the rooftop of 1983 Sullivan Place and entered through the access door. He took the stairs down a few floors and made his way past the identical-looking doors until he came upon number 907. With the little key he’d been entrusted with, he quietly made his way inside assuming that Lois was asleep by now. But as he locked the door behind him, the lights switched on.

“You’re back,” said Lois tiredly, standing near the light switch. She was wearing blue pajamas with a fuzzy robe overtop. It was a chilly autumn night and only Conner’s Kryptonian DNA kept him from wanting a warm jacket of his own.

“You’re still up?” Conner asked, slipping off his shoes and going over to the couch near where she was standing.

“I usually wait for Clark to finish his patrol anyway. I use the time to get some work done,” she explained as Conner sat down.

“That’s a long time to wait.”

“Sometimes. I think he’s got some sort of system though, so some nights it’s a lot quicker. I dunno—Metropolis is pretty peaceful. I guess all the thugs and thieves and other lowlifes are smart enough to not cause trouble when _Superman_ is watching the city.”

“Doesn’t seem to stop them over in Gotham,” Conner shrugged. Maybe it was because he knew Clark, but he was personally a hundred times more terrified of Batman than he was of Superman. Not to mention that Gotham was also under the watch of the entire Batclan, too, and they were as equally terrifying when they wanted to be.

“Gotham’s a _special_ city,” Lois said with a chuckle.

“Hey, it’s not all bad. It’s got its good points,” Conner defended. Though those aforementioned good points consisted mainly of, like, Tim. And that downtown burger joint they went to once. But that was pretty much it. Lois smirked a little at him, probably knowing what (who) he was referring to, and then yawned loudly. “Do you want anything? Tea? A tall glass of warm milk?”

“Milk? Lois, I’m not three years old,” Conner said, crossing his arms and trying his best not to smile but instead to appear as a stubborn teenager.

“Close enough, technically,” she teased, ruffling his hair for added effect. Then she yawned dramatically and declared “Well I guess you’ve got your ear out for damsels in distress and whatnot. Probably don’t need little old me, so I’m off. Got an awesome interview lined up for tomorrow. It just _screams_ front-page scoop! Goodnight, Conner!”

“Goodnight, Lois,” Conner said as she disappeared back down the narrow little hallway. He listened to the city just once more for good measure, but there wasn’t anything that needed his attention. He lay back on the pillow and draped the blanket Lois had kept out for him over himself and figured he might as well get some rest. Half alien or no, he got tired too. But just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard it: something that sounded like a growl—guttural and barbaric but still _human_ —followed by the sounds of destruction and a shrill scream.

Someone was in danger.

Conner was off in seconds, racing out of the apartment (though this time he remembered to lock the door), up the stairs to the rooftop, and took off in the South-Southwest direction the moment he threw open the access door. He couldn’t go supersonic at this height, not so close to civilians or buildings, but he could still fly fast. The cool night air whipped away any shreds of fatigue as he let his hearing guide him. He could hear more roaring, something shattering as it hit tile, a woman screaming in agony and sobbing something unintelligible. It sounded like she was being attacked by some sort of monster.

And suddenly the roaring turned into gasping—like whatever it was that was attacking the woman was out of air and struggling to breathe. A strange gurgling noise was the only thing Conner could hear after that.

No. _No!_ He was almost at the location—he was so close, his TTK wrapped around him to give him the most aerodynamic form—and he could still hear the woman’s soft sobs. She was alive at least and just a few more seconds and he’d be by her side. Just a second more. He could see the little row house with its faded green door and broken knocker.

And he very nearly crashed into it.

Without waiting he barged in, somehow keeping the door on its hinges but ruining the doorframe. He’d have to explain that to the cops when they got there. He stepped into a dark little foyer and it was way too quiet—no sign of anything amiss here. But the lights in the kitchen were on and that’s where he headed, as fast as his feet could carry.

The scene in front of him was a grotesque one. The woman he must’ve heard was lying near the doorway, facing down and still partially conscious. Her pink nightgown was half red with blood and Conner hoped that it wasn’t hers—but who else’s could it be? If there had been a monster here, it had gotten away. But how? And how could it have gotten in? The door had been securely locked until Conner had forced his way in. He’d have to do a check after the ambulance came.

“Ma’am?” he asked her quietly, kneeling next to her and not bothering to avoid the pool of blood. She gave a faint moan and reached out with twitching fingers. Conner took hold of her hand, but he didn’t know how much comfort that would give her. She was fading fast. A quick x-ray revealed her spine was fractured in two different places, one side of her skull had been bashed in, and her ankle was broken. With these types of injuries, she didn’t have long, but at least he heard sirens growing near. “It’s going to be okay ma’am, the police and the ambulance are on their way. You’re going to be fine—you just have to stay with me a little longer, okay?”

He kept babbling on, hoping to keep her conscious. He wanted to turn her over, to see where the wound from which she was bleeding out was, so that he could compress it or cauterize it or _something_. He couldn’t let this woman die on his hands, but he also couldn’t risk compounding her injuries. Even if he were to use his TTK to turn her over, the pressure he’d have to apply might end up breaking something else or paralyzing her if she wasn’t already.

Why would anyone—anything—attack her? She just looked like an ordinary civilian. Average height and build, brown hair, fair skin. Was she a vigilante, like he was? As he looked around the kitchen, still talking to her in an effort to keep her conscious, there were at least signs of struggle. Half the cabinets were open, their contents thrown out haphazardly onto the counters and floor. The fridge had been pushed over, having fallen onto the island and cracking a piece of it off, adding to the mess created by the spilled food. A spice rack had been toppled, sending the vibrant colors sprawling across the linoleum and adding a sickening contrast to the scene. A large kitchen knife had been abandoned some distance away and it was possible she had wielded it in defense. When he switched on his x-ray vision for a look at the other side of the island, the result caught him off guard.

A second body.

There was no heartbeat or signs of breathing. The man, dressed in a torn t-shirt and raggedy pants, was gone. But Conner hadn’t heard a man’s voice screaming. Was it possible that the attacker killed him first, before he even got a chance to cry out for help? And when the woman came to see what was happening, she was attacked? It still left the question of the attackers whereabouts, but maybe they’d run off thinking the job was done or even upon sensing Conner’s approach, were it some sort of creature or another metahuman.

“They’re here, they’re here,” Conner told the woman, not needing his superhearing to alert him of the police’s arrival. He heard them barge in nearly like he had, only without the work of having to force the door open.

“M.P.D.!” an officer shouted and Conner was quick to respond.

“In here! Get a medic—she’s fading fast!” he shouted in response. He heard another officer repeat his command near the door.

“Superboy!” said the first officer upon entering the kitchen, lowering her gun. The two men behind her did the same. “Oh my god.”

“What the hell happened here?” asked one of them.

“I got here too late. Whatever attacked them is gone, but I don’t know how it got inside in the first place. It was me who wrecked the doorframe to get in,” Conner explained, releasing the woman’s hand and moving aside as the paramedics came running with a stretcher, a neck brace and an array of other equipment in tow.

“Wait— _them_?” the first officer asked. Jones, her name tag read.

“Second victim’s behind the island. He’s… dead.” Keeping his voice steady when surrounded by destruction and the blood of innocent people was something he’d learned over the years, something he’d gotten very good at doing, but not something he’d ever get used to. He watched the paramedics strap the neck brace around the woman’s neck, flipping her over with caution and holding her steady as they carefully lifted her onto the stretcher at the count of three. He almost wished he didn’t get to see the poor woman’s face. Not just because it was so badly disfigured from fractures and swelling, but because he’d have nightmares for days to come for not being able to get there in time to prevent that.

“Uh, thank you, Superboy,” said Officer Jones once the woman’s body had been cleared. She looked around the scene with a deep frown.

“Don’t really think I was of much help,” Conner said with a shrug, but then added, “Mind if I take some pictures for a friend?”

The officer looked a little skeptical and exchanged a glance with her partner, who nodded. “That’s fine,” she agreed. “But our crime scene guy is going to be here soon, so you’ll have to make it quick.”

Conner mumbled his thanks and took out his cell phone. He might as well get a few pictures for Tim, in case the police couldn’t find this mystery killer on their own. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt on his watch and if he ended up needing help, then so be it. Conner snapped a photo of everything from the knife to the fallen potted plant in the corner—trying not to miss a single inch just in case that inch might contain vital information. Once he felt like he got enough pictures, he took a quick look around the little house, but the rest of the rooms were spick-and-span. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Feeling a little defeated, Conner took his leave matter-of-factly, taking off silently and heading back towards Lois’ apartment.

He knew he shouldn’t feel personally responsible, but Clark had entrusted him with watching over his city, his _home_. Nothing ever really happened in Smallville apart from the occasional petty theft or cat stuck in a tree, but suddenly he knew what it was like to carry such an obligation. It brought into perspective what Tim and the other Bats must feel towards Gotham. As terrible of a city as it might be, it was their home, they were its guardians, and they were responsible for keeping its citizens safe.

When he got back, Lois was unsurprisingly waiting for him. The light in the kitchen was on and he could smell the warm milk. He would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so crummy. Leaving his shoes by the door, he padded quietly into the light. Lois was standing on the other side of the island, a yellow mug nestled between her hands which she pushed towards him when he entered. She wore an apologetic look on her face and Conner wondered for a moment if she could secretly read minds.

“When I was little and had a bad dream, my mom used to make me some warm milk—with just a little sugar to sweeten it up. It put me right to sleep and helped drive away the nightmares,” she explained, her tone soft and maternal, lacking the usual jovial character.

“How’d you know?” he asked her, taking the mug despite not wanting to ever step foot into another kitchen ever again after what he saw. The neatness and comfortable air that Lois’ kitchen provided contrasted against the image of the crime scene still in his head and it was a little jarring. But such was their line of work, he supposed.

“Well for one, your pants are covered in blood,” Lois pointed out and Conner looked down to see that she was right. He’d forgotten about that. He’d have to get the stains out. “And I heard you take off in a hurry. That means an emergency and they rarely end well. So I figured the chances of you needing something to calm you down after whatever you were bound to see were pretty high.”

Conner smiled weakly at her, grateful for her foresight but also feeling a little bad for keeping her up. Though it seemed like she was well accustomed to it. He took a sip and let the hot liquid run down his throat, warming him up from the inside—though more figuratively than literally. He wasn’t a big fan of milk at all, but it wasn’t so bad and moreover the gesture was just too kind to reject.

“Thanks Lois,” he said in a voice too quiet and somber to really be his. It wasn’t like this was his first disastrous crime scene. In fact, he’d probably seen much worse and those were filled with people he loved. But even thinking about that didn’t make it better this time. He met Lois’ caring eyes but looked away, a little bit ashamed and a little bit disappointed in himself.

“If Clark were here, he’d tell you it wasn’t your fault, Conner,” Lois said after a moment.

“Yeah but if Clark were here, a man could have been saved tonight and whatever psychopath that attacked him and his wife wouldn’t have gotten away,” Conner retorted with a sigh. He took another sip when Lois didn’t say anything else.

“Even he can’t save everyone, and he knows that. Even if he were here, the result probably would have been the same,” Lois tried to explain.

“Maybe.” Conner appreciated the fact that Lois was trying to make him feel better. The look on her face was that of a woman who often consoled her husband went things went bad.

“Look, dozens of crimes happen every hour in this city. You’d literally have to be everywhere at once to stop all of them. You can’t win every single battle. You can’t save everyone,” she repeated. “But that fact that you and Clark and the all the other heroes go out every night means that you’re saving a _lot_ of people. Focus on those, Conner. Focus on all the people you’ve saved and kept out of harm’s way. And for the people you couldn’t, you focus on bringing whoever hurt them to justice.”

Conner smiled a little at that. It sounded a lot like what Tim would tell him and maybe that’s why he and Lois got along so well. But Lois was right, and even if she hadn’t said it, Conner already knew that’s what he had to do. He’d get to the bottom of this mystery of his and he’d bring the creep behind it down. He would protect Metropolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for deciding to read this! It's my first multi-chapter fic and I've had it sitting around for a while though I haven't had the courage to post it until now (in honor of Timtober and upcoming TimKon week on Tumblr and whatnot). I'm hoping it gets at least a little attention and if so, I'll post the other chapters I've got so far, too. They're much longer than this one, I promise. Please feel free to ask questions or leave comments--I'd love to answer. I'm eagerly awaiting some feedback!
> 
> Additionally, the rating may change to M for future chapters. I haven't quite decided.
> 
> A big thanks to those who helped me edit this! Couldn't have done it without your support, guys.


	2. A Shot in the Dark

As he predicted, Conner did end up having nightmares about that poor woman whose hand he had held yesterday. Even though she had been dying, her grip had been tight—the grasp of someone who was holding on for dear life. At least it had only been one nightmare. Maybe Lois’ home remedy had more-or-less worked.

Before he’d left the scene, he’d heard the police say that the woman’s name was Jacqueline Farrows and her husband’s name was Kevin Farrows. If he got the chance, he’d see if he could visit her in the hospital. While he was at it, maybe he’d ask if she had any information on her attacker. Or should he just get the police report after they questioned her? Though if this was ongoing case, wouldn’t it be confidential? Conner pondered these things and about a hundred more by the time he sat down at the dining table with his bowl of cornflakes.

“You okay there?” Lois asked him, shuffling around some papers and stuffing them first into a folder and then into her bag. She was wearing a slate-gray suit and her dark brown hair was pulled up into a neat bun.

“Are incidence reports of an ongoing investigation available to the public?” he asked her. Being a reporter, she probably knew.

“Depends. In your case? Probably not, since one of the victims is still alive,” Lois said. True. It could potentially put the woman’s life at risk. Conner hadn’t told Lois much about the case in fear of needlessly involving her when she had other stories to focus on (and since the killer was still on the loose, he was afraid of putting her in danger). “Though you could try and convince the police.”

“I think it’s better if I don’t push my luck.” This was all so new to him, honestly. Conner was used to being the muscle and the raw power in the group. And even on his own, he’d never had a _mystery_ to solve—just a wall to punch through or something. Tim was the detective. He’d know what to do. But Tim was probably busying trying to single-handedly foil the dastardly plans of some supervillian like he tended to do (and Conner was sure to keep an ear out for him especially following that Ra’s al Ghul business, even if Tim rarely called).

“Then what are you going to do?” Lois asked, tucking in the last of her papers away and taking one last bite from her cereal. Conner just shrugged, not really sure of _what_ he ought to do.

“Maybe I’ll just patrol as usual. If the killer’s still out there, maybe he’ll mess up and I’ll be able to bring him down myself, or maybe the police will get him,” Conner figured. Given the circumstances, it didn’t seem so likely that that cops could catch the killer. Or even if they figured out who it was, it might be dangerous for them to pursue. The killer could very well be a magic user and the cops were probably not trained to handle that (unless some of them also happened to be vigilantes, like Nightwing had been). But it wasn’t like he had any idea where to even start. He could go back to the Farrows’ house, but even if they let him enter—superhero privilege and all—he wouldn’t even know where to begin looking. He might as well patrol the skies while keeping his ear to the ground for details.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?” Lois said. “You and Clark have this tendency to feel personally responsible for each and everyone’s life apparently.”

“Better than not caring at all. Don’t want to be _that_ type of person,” Conner said into his bowl.

“Hey,” Lois said. He looked up at her, knowing that she understood what he was getting at and already knowing what she was going to say. “You’re more like Clark than you’d think. Trust me. The people who know both of you—we can see it. Not to mention, you’re _Conner_ , and that’s pretty freaking awesome in my opinion.”

“Thanks Lois. And yeah, I know. It just sucks sometimes,” he shrugged. Lois smiled apologetically. She could be damn scary when she was angry or upset, but when she wasn’t she was usually wonderful like that.

“That’s life, kiddo. Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s a real bitch.” Lois stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and scooping up her bowl. “Anyway, I’m off. Interview to conduct, articles to write, conspiracies to unveil.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Lois,” Conner said, hearing the sound of the bowl clanging in the sink and the tap running for a few seconds.

“Always do! See you at dinner!” she called back, making her way out the door. Conner figured he might as well get going too. He discarded his empty bowl in the sink as Lois had and, dressed in his usual Superboy T-shirt, jeans, and boots, he took off.

At least in Metropolis he didn’t have to worry about being recognized, but in a little place like Smallville, everyone knew everyone else so even dressed in plaid with dorky glasses he had to be careful. He generally avoided coming into contact with classmates who might recognize him or anyone he made deliveries to for Ma. Speaking of which….

As he flew over the Avenue of Tomorrow headed towards Wonderland District, he took out his cell phone and called Ma. On the third ring she answered. “Hello? Kent residence.”

“Hey Ma, it’s me,” Conner said. The phone was designed specifically to filter out the sound of the wind as he flew, but he slowed down just a tad anyway. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh Conner! I’m fine, sweetheart. Krypto’s been taking good care of me, but I think he misses you. I’ve been keeping him busy with your chores though, otherwise he’ll start whining,” Ma said fondly from the other side of the line. Conner heard Krypto bark in protest over the sound of the television.

“I’ll see if I can visit if I ever get a chance,” Conner said with a chuckle. He’d heard that during his year-or-so absence, the silly dog had been so heartbroken that he ran off somewhere and no one could find him. Now that Conner had come back, Krypto had made it a point to keep close to him.

“How are things going over there in Metropolis? How’s Lois doing?” Ma asked. Conner heard her chopping up something, probably tomatoes for lunch.

“Lois is fine. And things here are… a little weird,” Conner admitted.

“What do you mean, honey?”

“There was an attack late last night, not sure by who or what, but I got there too late.”

“Now Conner Kent, don’t you go blaming yourself. You can’t be there all the time—same thing I used to tell Clark!” Ma started. He imagined her waving around the knife. Despite being the nicest woman he knew, Martha Kent could also be terrifying when she wanted to be.

“It’s alright, Ma, Lois already gave me that speech,” Conner sighed. They were both right of course, and he really didn’t beat himself up (that much) over it. Right now, he was just determined to not let anyone else get hurt by that guy. Somehow holding someone’s hand as they lay dying always made it a little bit more personal. Tim would probably tell him that it wasn’t good to let things get to him like that, that it would compromise his ability to think objectively about the mission, but Conner knew that Tim took things like that personally too—even if he never showed it or, god forbid, said it aloud.

“Well, good on her,” Ma said. “Anyway, I won’t keep you from your duties. I know you’re doing a fine job, dear. Give me a call before you decide to come over. I’ll have some warm pie ready!”

“Yes ma’am!” There were few things as delicious as Ma Kent’s pie, and that was a certified fact. “See you soon.”

“Love you, sweetheart!”

“Love you too, Ma.” Almost as soon as he slipped the phone back into his pocket he heard someone cry out for help. Good timing, at least.

Conner swooped down to an alleyway where a man was being mugged. Was, being the operative term. Conner landed dramatically and came to full height behind a teenager who had a businessman against the wall, a fist drawn up and ready. The teen quickly spun around, his eyes first landing on the S-shield on Conner’s shirt. Conner hauled him up bodily by the scruff of his jacket. It wasn’t in that bad of a condition. Neither was the kid in general—clean shaven and appearing well-fed.

“There are better ways of getting a thrill, and mugging someone isn’t one of them,” Conner said, Superboy voice and all.

“L-Lemme go!” the kid said, struggling in vain. Conner was tall enough to lift him off the ground without having to float, but he did just for effect.

“Fine,” Conner said, dropping him suddenly. The kid landed on his feet, but before he could make a break for it, Conner grabbed his wrist and floated even higher. The kid continued to struggle and cursed viciously. “But first I’ve got some friends of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“T-Thank you, Superboy,” the rattled businessman said, straightening himself out.

“Anytime,” Conner said with a signature smile before shooting up past the limit of the skyscrapers, the mugger in tow. The kid was screaming hysterically, which made it that much funnier. It was probably a little sadistic, but they all did it, like how Bart would run so fast that it’d make the criminals hurl or pass out by the time they reached the police station, green faced and dizzy at the very least. Or how Tim would push them off the ledge and just let them dangle in front of the station upside down from a decel line, probably with thoroughly soiled pants,  until someone cut them loose. Heroes had to have their fun somehow, even Tim who was all dark and brooding lately, though Conner blamed himself for that.

“Lemme go, lemme go!” the wayward teen repeated, literally kicking and screaming, though clutching Conner’s wrist with both hands. Conner tried not to laugh, but made no attempt to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“That’s a poor choice of words,” he said and the kid immediately rectified his request.

“Put me down, put me down!”

“In just a sec,” Conner assured him. When the police station came into view, he made a beeline for it, causing the kid to scream even louder. “Don’t be such a wuss!”

They landed in front of the station and the kid stumbled forward a few steps, breathing heavily and looking at the ground as if he was about to fall over and start kissing it. Conner marched him inside the station and an officer who was walking by looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Kid tried to mug someone over in the Wonderland District,” Conner explained. The teenager looked at the ground, his shoulder raised as if trying to get his head to retract into his jacket as if it were a turtle shell. “The guy’s fine. Think this one’s just looking for a kick—didn’t have a weapon.”

“Please, my mom will kill me,” the kid tried to say, but the officer held up a hand.

“Should have thought of that before, kid,” the officer said, reaching for her handcuffs. She nodded at Conner with a little smile, “Thanks, Superboy.”

“I’ll leave him to you then,” Conner said. The officer smiled again, but then frowned at the teen, leading him down a hallway. Conner stood where he was for a few seconds, figuring that he could use this opportunity to listen into one of the police scanners.

And man was his timing legendary today.

“We have a one eight seven, two blocks from the Ace O’ Clubs, requesting backup to secure the area,” said a voice through the scanner and Conner’s was off before the call finished.

One eight seven—that was a homicide.

What if it was the mystery killer?

The Ace O’ Clubs was towards the east end of Metropolis, sort of on the other side of the city. Still, flying meant that he’d been there in a minute or two and the police were already on the scene. He tried not to get his hopes up because the officer who’d radioed in hadn’t said that they had the suspect in custody or anything about a suspect at all. But maybe if he listened to a perimeter around the Ace O’ Clubs, he might be able to hear something helpful—or maybe even hear the perpetrator.

It was a long shot, but Conner did his best. Though without a voice to focus on, it proved a little too difficult. Regardless, he came upon the crime scene—a narrow little alleyway next to an old abandoned store with boarded up windows and a rusting sign. It was a common sight down in Suicide Slums. Yellow tape and cop cars closed off both ends of the alleyway and Conner saw three body bags.

Conner cursed himself as he landed next to a cop who was leaning against the door of his squad car and radioing in something. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The cop, Officer Yardley as his name tag read, looked at him. Or rather, his shirt, and then at him. People always did that, and that was actually sort of the point, but he had to admit that sometimes it was a little annoying. Maybe it was annoying because he knew without that symbol on his shirt, no one would even give him the time of day. But now, thanks to Clark, it wielded its own power of influence. Conner only hoped he wouldn’t mess up everything Clark worked so hard to establish, though he felt like he wasn’t doing a very swell job of it lately.

“Superboy,” the officer recognized. He tucked his 2-way radio back into its holster. “Heard you were at a crime scene late last night?”

“Yeah. Got there too late to catch the guy, though. Looks like the same thing happened this time.”

“Whoever did this is long gone. Guy who called it in is from the building over. He reported a disturbance—thought it was a gang fight or something, but he didn’t see anything. He was too afraid to go outside and check; didn’t want to be dragged into something, so he just called it in. By the time we got here, three dead. Two from multiple stab wounds from a broken bottle and one has broken neck. That’s all we know for now, but we’re sending them for autopsies. You think this is connected to the killing from last night?” the officer asked, both hands resting on his belt.

“Could be.” It was hard to say with just two crime scenes, but he sincerely hoped that there wouldn’t be any more. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he couldn’t help but feel worse every minute the perpetrator went free.

There wasn’t much to do, but after thanking the officer Conner sort of just flew around the crime scene, snapped what photos he could, and flew off. He tried to remind himself of what Ma and Lois said about it not being his fault, and he knew they were right, but he still felt like shit. He still felt like he was failing Clark.

 

The rest of the day fared little better. He stopped a few petty crimes here and there, his ear out for screams of help and also for his mystery killer, but again, without knowing what he was actually listening for, it was hard to triangulate a potential suspect. He just ended up with what was like overlapping radio frequencies—snippets of various people’s voices and their conversation, jumping from one to the other. Not only was it unhelpful, but it also made him feel weird—like he was seriously creeping on _everyone_ in the city. That wasn’t something he did or liked doing. He wasn’t a Bat.

So by lunch he’d given it up and solemnly finished his burger while sitting atop a random building in the Financial District. Apart from the unknown murderer on the loose, the city was pretty peaceful. He could see people on the sidewalks busily hiking through the crowds while talking on their phones, moving faster than the sluggish cars which were currently caught up in lunch-hour traffic.  It was a clear, sunny day with a few clouds streaming slowly across the light blue sky. It was chilly down at street level and even more so up where he was, thanks to the cool autumn winds, but due to the sun, he was warm inside and out.

Then he heard police sirens and his blood ran as cold as ice.

He shot off from the roof and triangulated the location of the car: 52nd Street and heading east. He tuned into the scanner and heard an officer say, “Call from Suicide Slums, possible one eight seven—requesting all nearby units to report to 42nd and Mallory. Apartment 508. Amber Freeman and an unknown female; neighbor who called it in said probably a friend.”

Conner almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Another homicide? On his watch? How the hell was this even happening? No way, there was _no way_ this was even real! He hoped that it was a false alarm, his heart racing, as he headed towards the specified location: it was an old-looking apartment building and with his x-ray vision he easily identified the apartment. He flew in through the open window on the fifth floor.

Two women lay dead: one face-down on the frayed carpet and one sprawled on the ugly brown couch—her mouth wide open, as if she had been screaming. A small knife stuck out of her abdomen and her hand was clutched tightly around it. She must have bled out, considering the amount of blood there was. There was a half-cut apple on the table with cracked glass, now brown and attracting flies, as did the bodies.

Conner swallowed the bile that rose to his throat and tried to stay objective. He quickly took pictures of the scene with the intention of getting out of there before the police showed up. He didn’t want to deal with them. He heard the police sirens grow louder and decided he may as well be off. There wasn’t much he could do, anyway and it might be suspicious that he was at all three crime scenes with no other culprit—though it wasn’t like anyone would really suspect _Superboy_.

So he flew off through the window as silently as he came. That was six people dead and one in a coma. Way too many victims and the police had no leads whatsoever. This was seriously getting out of hand and it was driving Conner crazy. He hated feeling helpless and he’d never felt _this_ helpless before. Even with all his powers, he still wasn’t able to do anything for these people.

Not knowing what else to do, he flew to Metropolis General.

He tried to do that thing that Tim would do when he was upset: suppress his emotions and just try to focus on the issue at hand. But how the hell did anyone even _do_ that when the issue at hand was the thing that was driving him up a wall?! Whenever he caught whoever was responsible for this, he was going to the punch them straight through that wall. Or ten, just for the sweet satisfaction of it.

Arriving at the hospital, after an admittedly aggressive flight, he went first to the gift shop and picked up an assortment of fresh flowers. Then, with the bouquet in hand, he headed to the lobby, ignoring the stares he got. People still weren’t really used to seeing superheroes in the hospital and honestly, Conner wasn’t really used to being in one. At least not as Superboy (though it was still awful even as a civilian).

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he said, approaching the reception desk where a blonde woman was sitting. “I’m looking for a Jacqueline Farrows?”

“She’s in intensive care,” the woman informed him after looking at her computer for a moment. “Are you family, because….”

Crap, it was the only-family-allowed thing, wasn’t it? Conner wore his best puppy dog face, and started, “No, I’m not family or anything, but I wasn’t in time to save her husband and….”

“It’s okay—um. I’ll have a nurse take you to her room,” said the clerk after blinking. No one could resist the puppy dog face. He’d learned from Krypto, who had it down to a fine art. Not even Raven was immune, and _that_ was saying something.

“Thank you.”

 “Head down this hallway to your left and go straight. She’ll be waiting there for you,” the clerk said, a faint blush spreading on her face when he smiled brightly.

 _Still got it_ , he thought to himself as he went down the nearby hallway as told, tuning out all the sights, sounds, and smells of the uncomfortable hospital atmosphere. He never had good experiences with hospitals—it was always someone he cared about lying there unconscious and hooked up to various machines—and it reminded him a little too much of the labs back at Cadmus. He shook his head, trying to get the imagines of stern-faced scientists, cruel-looking needles, wires and pipes and that goddamn _tube_ out of his head. It was so long ago, almost a different lifetime altogether, but being in a hospital was just too close for comfort.

Thankfully, a nurse wearing pink scrubs was waiting for him at the end of the hallway, so at least he wouldn’t have to wait around here anymore than usual. She smiled when she saw him and when he was closer she said, “Superboy! I’m a big fan!”

“Thank you! I’m here to see, Mrs. Farrows,” he said a little awkwardly but with a big smile. She nodded and led him down a smaller hallway that opened up into the ICU. It was a sight to see: nurses and doctors running from room to room, machines beeping loudly, and various people being paged from over the intercom. However, Jacqueline’s door was close, just the third one to the right, so he was quickly able to slip into the room.

Jacqueline Farrows looked just as bad as she had the night before, only half her face was bandaged up and the rest of her injuries were concealed under a blanket. A heart monitor beeped steadily, and there was a tube hanging from the side of her mouth, hooked up to yet another machine. He set down the flowers on the table next to her and tried not to x-ray her out of both habit and paranoia. She was in good hands now.

“She was in pretty bad condition when she was brought in. Bashed skull, broken spine, broken ankle, internal hemorrhaging,” the nurse said quietly.

“I know,” Conner said despite himself, then amended, “When do you think she’ll wake up?”

“We’re not entirely sure. Her condition’s been the same since we got her stabilized, but it may just be too early to say. We’ll keep monitoring her.”

“Did she say anything? Anything at all?” Conner asked, looking away from the blanketed figure.

“Just said the name of her husband,” the nurse said sadly. Conner cursed internally. She’d never get to see her husband again when and if she ever woke. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like—to wake up to a world where the person you loved the most wasn’t there. And then suddenly a wave of guilt washed over him, for more than one reason, and he felt a little suffocated in the tiny room.

“Thank you,” he managed.

“Do you want a moment alone?” the nurse asked kindly.

“No,” Conner told her. “But if she does wake up, tell her I’m going to find whoever did this—and bring them to justice.”

The nurse nodded and stepped aside, allowing Conner to leave. He was out of there as quickly as his feet could carry him without super-speeding away. He felt a little bit like he was running away from too many things, all unrelated but still there, haunting him.

 

Flying always helped him clear his head. Whether it was fast and recklessly to burn off some steam or anger, like he had earlier; or if it was carefree and without worry, like after a successful mission; or if was with haste and purpose, like when someone was in danger; or if it was carefully and with restraint, like when he carried someone—it helped. Just the wind in his face, flowing past him but not holding him back, gave him a feeling of freedom. And now, it gave him some semblance of _control_ because that was something he was seriously missing lately. So he allowed himself to loaf around in the air a little until his feelings of frustration and self-loathing were whipped away with the evening breeze.

With the police on high alert, he had little to do but fly around anyway, watching civilians who didn’t realize the danger that was lurking out there. They went on as usual, like absolutely nothing was amiss. But any second now, the media would begin to cover it, lifting the veil of peace ever so slightly until Conner found the thread that was holding it up and snapped it, so the veil could continue to blanket the city undisturbed.

He was somewhere over Metro Square, watching shoppers and tourists alike. Even on a weekday it was unbelievably busy. It was where all the shopping centers and tourist attractions were, so it was the most densely packed place during work hours, and also well into the evening. A few civilians on foot occasionally noticed him floating there aimlessly and pointed, gathering the attention of their friends, some taking pictures. A few waved every now and then and Conner waved back. Just as he decided to head over to Suicide Slums, he got a call from Lois.

“Hey Lois,” he answered, pausing in his flight trajectory.

“Looks like we’re gonna’ have to cancel that nice home-cooked dinner kiddo. Sort of. You, me, take out, and a good old-fashioned mystery,” Lois said, sounding more upset than she was letting on.

“Lois, what happened?” he asked, altering his course towards the Daily Planet, which was just a few blocks north from Metro Square.

“Call me paranoid but I’m not sure how comfortable I feel telling you this over the phone,” she said.

“This line is probably more secure than a military—”

“Okay, it’s not the _phone_ but I’m in the middle of the bullpen and you know what reporters are like. Not everyone has the journalistic integrity of Clark and I! Don’t want to point any fingers but _Cat_ is right over there by the water cooler and she’s got the ears of a fox,” Lois explained. He could hear her shuffling around papers, probably so she could escape into her office. “Meet me in my office in fifteen, in your civvies, alright? Mention my name at the front desk and they’ll let you in.”

Well if it was Cat Grant who Lois was worried about, then he’d rather not anything be said either. He didn’t personally know her, but her scathing articles about Kara automatically landed her on Conner’s ‘People-to-Avoid’ list, and she was higher on it than Batman!

Following Lois’ instructions, Conner went back to the apartment and threw on a plaid shirt and his glasses before walking the distance to the Daily Planet. He hated having to walk places when he could just _fly_ or even run, and he realized how agonizing it must be for Bart all the time to have to go so slowly. Thankfully the distance to the world-famous newspaper headquarters was short and once inside, he walked up to the front desk with the bag of Thai take-out he’d gotten from across the street.

“I’m looking for Lois Lane?” he said, trying to appear as awkward and out-of-place as he felt while the woman behind the counter eyed him suspiciously.

“You look familiar kid,” she said.

“Er—I’m Clark Kent’s cousin,” he said quickly, then held the bag up. “Just brought this for Lois. She loves Thai.”

“Alright then,” the woman shrugged, apparently having more important things to care about than a country hick here to see his cousin-in-law, even if the cousin-in-law in question was the famous Lois Lane. But throwing around Clark’s name had probably helped. If worse came to worst, he could have just had her call up, but then Lois probably would have laughed at the fact that he could take down supervillians with his bare hands but he couldn’t make it past Linda the Receptionist.

He took the elevator up to Lois’ office and knocked on the glass door, going inside when Lois gestured to him. She was turned around, clearing space on her desk. “I don’t get why you couldn’t just tell me whatever’s going on over the phone from your office.” Conner said.

“Well,” Lois started, sitting down in her chair. Conner pulled a chair from the corner and sat down too, placing the food he bought on the desk. “I figured I’d tell you in person. And I didn’t want to catch you while you were flying—you might’ve fallen out of the sky or something.”

“Jesus. That bad?” Conner asked, bracing himself.

“It’s definitely weird….” Lois chewed her lip for a second before continuing. “You know how I was supposed to do an interview today? It was with a Dr. Harold Grange about a pill or something that might’ve been wrongly approved—that is, approved on the basis of falsified data. In this day and age, it’s nearly impossible to do something like that. So not only did the company in question manage the impossible, they also had the guts to do it. Do you know how much hot water they’d be in if word got out?”

“A lot?” Conner ventured, though it was probably a rhetorical question.

“Understatement of the century. Which is probably why the good doctor never showed up for the interview.”

“You mean he got cold feet?”

“That’s what I thought at first. So I went looking for him. Tracked down his house nearby,” Lois said, leaning forward and taking a breath. She rubbed her temples and Conner got the feeling that he really wasn’t going to like what she was about to tell him. “When I got there, he didn’t answer the front door. I had a _bad_ feeling, so I got in through the unlocked sliding door in the back.”

“And?” Conner prodded when she stopped for a few moments, a sinking feeling already building in his stomach.

“Found him dead in his living room—hanging from the ceiling fan,” Lois said grimly. Conner’s jaw fell open on its own accord.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he breathed out, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m not even at the worst part,” Lois said, leaning back in her chair and sighing.

“There’s _more_?” Conner groaned. As if this wasn’t bad enough.

“I called the police—I mean, what else was there to do? And they found a little note he probably wrote. They took it for evidence, but I got a peek at it. Only read ‘Alpramine.’”

“What’s that?”

“Had no clue. But I got back to the office and I had a friend of mine do some digging. It’s an antidepressant. And I think it might be related to these killings going on.”

“What? How?” Conner asked. In what way did an antidepressant connect to a crazed killer on the loose?

“I’m not entirely certain of that, but that friend of mine also managed to get a short list of people who were prescribed it. Two of the victims of these random, suspect-less murders were on it. The others could be on it too, for all I know—he wasn’t able to get the full list. But the point is, I don’t think Dr. Grange committed suicide. I think he was killed over this drug—because he was going to reveal whatever must be wrong with it,” getting that look in her eye that she got right before a big scoop.

“But where do we even start?” Conner asked. Lois shrugged, pulling the cartons out of the bag.

“Beats the hell out of me,” she said. “But I’ll see if I can get something out of Jupiter Inc. That’s the company that makes Alpramine. Though I probably won’t make it past the front door.”

“I think I know someone who can help,” Conner said, resigning himself to the fact that he was totally screwed and needed backup.

“Hm?” Lois asked, chewing on her mixed vegetable stir fry. Conner stood up, pulling his phone out of his pocket and hitting speed dial as he walked to the window. It rang twice before being answered.

“Kon.” Tim said as more of a statement than a question. There was a lot of noise in the background and before Conner could say anything, an explosion sounded somewhere in the distance.

“Was that—what the hell, it’s not even _dark_ yet.”

“It’s fine. That explosion was my fault. Just tying up a few loose ends on this mission.” Figures that he’d already be out on patrol. “What do you need?”

“So uh, you know how Kal’s on New Krypton doing some ambassador thingy or whatever and he left me in charge of Metropolis? Well, at first it was pretty normal but….” Conner explained how since yesterday there had been six people murdered in three separate cases and by the time he got there, whoever did it had disappeared. He explained how there was no evidence of a breaking-and-entering, or actually any evidence of anything, hence there were no actual suspects. And he mentioned the possible connection between the doctor Lois was supposed to interview, his apparent suicide, and Alpramine.

“So you think that a meta might be behind this and that the drug might have something to do with those murders in the first place? I’ll see if I can’t get a full list of people who’ve been prescribed it. And once they do the autopsies, I’ll get those records too. It should help us put together an M.O. for the killer,” Tim said. Conner heard the rush of wind and the flutter of a cape that told him that Tim was swinging from building to building.

“I have pictures of the crime scenes, and I assume that Lois took pictures at the doctor’s house,” Conner said, looking at Lois.

“’Course I did, kid. I’m no amateur,” Lois said, stabbing at her takeout with the chopsticks.

“Good. Those’ll help and that way I don’t have to break into M.P.D.’s database.” Conner knew he would ultimately break in for some reason or another, even if it was just for the sake of completion. Tim was weird like that. “I have some things to take care of tonight and a meeting tomorrow morning, but I’ll be over after that. Luckily, there’s an apartment at the top of the WayneTech tower.”

“There’s a penthouse on the top of that thing? I’ve flown by at least a dozen times and never saw one!” Figured, though.

“Not technically a penthouse, but essentially, yeah. Never know when it might come in handy so we had it commissioned during construction,” Tim told him. The WayneTech tower had sprouted up recently, a few blocks away from the LexCorp building. In Conner’s opinion, while the LexCorp building was an eyesore, the WayneTech tower was elegant and sophisticated. It gave him something to look at when he was flying instead of something associated with Lex Luthor. As an added bonus, it reminded him of Tim.

“Well that’s convenient.”

“There’s more than one bedroom. You can stay with me, unless you prefer sleeping on Lois’ couch.” Tim offered wryly. Staying with his best friend in a _penthouse_? Who in their right mind would say no to that?

“Despite all the comfort that Lois’ couch provides, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Conner’s heart did a weird little flutter at that—and he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe he was just happy to be seeing Tim after he missed the last Titans weekend.

“Alright. Shout if you need me,” Conner reminded him.

“You’ve already got your hands full.”

“Well it’s not like you call _anyway_. Just be careful, okay? You sound like you’re up to something big tonight.” Conner could hear the sound of Tim’s bike revving up.

“I’ve got Batgirl and Black Bat for backup, so it’s fine. You have better things to worry about than me.” He did have a point—protecting Metropolis was his top priority, and with these murders he had to be extra vigilant—but a small voice in the back of Conner’s head was certain that there wasn’t really anything more important to him than Tim and his safety.

“Fine. Good luck with your mission.” Conner would still be keeping an ear out for him, even if he _did_ have other things to worry about, and even if Tim had backup. Half of it was out of just habit.

“Good luck with yours.” The line disconnected after that and Conner sighed. This case of his was seriously weird. But even if he was just grasping at straws, at least he wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad people actually decided to read this! Thank you for all your support. Feel free to leave kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscribe! Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Tim shows up in-person next chapter, for all of you who are wondering. I promise.


	3. A Secret to Hide

“To be honest, I’m kind of seriously jealous.” Lois was standing in the middle of the living room with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Conner shrugged, standing next to his bag. “How come _you_ get to stay at the fancy penthouse?”

“Because Tim’s _my_ best friend,” Conner told her. He was stupidly excited to get the call from Tim, telling him to come over. Never mind the penthouse (he’d been in Wayne Manor before, so he knew opulence), but just getting to see Tim again would be nice. Even if this was technically business.

“Fine but I’ll totally be dropping in—just to make sure you kids are alright and all. You know, as my duty as a responsible adult.”

“We’re Titans—I think we’ll be alright. Besides, how are you going to make it past the front door? I can just fly up, but Wayne security….”

“Oh please, I’m _Lois Lane_. I’m sure I can manage,” she told him, waving her hand in the air theatrically.

“I’m sure you could.” In all actuality, if Lois really wanted to, she would find a way to sneak in, even if that meant scaling the building. Not that Tim would mind, but security might not be so happy.

“You betcha. But whatever—tell Tim I said hello,” Lois said just as Conner’s phone buzzed with a message.

 _At the apartment. You can fly up,_ read the message, short and to the point and way too grammatically correct for a text message. That’s how he always knew it was from Tim (or Bart, but he never liked the waiting that texting involved so he usually just called anyway).

“Well, I’m off,” Conner said, slipping the phone back into his pocket and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“You kids stay outta’ trouble,” she said with a wink.

“You know we won’t!” Conner said with a mock salute. Just seconds later he was zipping through the Metropolis skyline once again. It was an overcast day with the sun blotted out by thick white clouds. But its rays still reached him and his cells breathed in the energy, even if he couldn’t quite feel its heat.

The WayneTech Tower was only a couple of blocks from Lois’ place so it only took him a minute to reach it. He realized why Tim had said it wasn’t quite a penthouse—the apartment wasn’t exactly on the top floor, but the building itself wasn’t shaped like a regular skyscraper to begin with. Still, it overlooked pretty much all the other buildings in Metropolis (save for LexCorp). There was a rectangular-shaped terrace where he landed—big, but not as big as the helipad on the other side of the building—and Tim, who’d been waiting, opened the glass doors that led inside.

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages,” Conner said as he touched down.

“Hello to you too,” Tim said with a tired smile, moving to the side so that Conner could enter. There was a fondness in his voice that always made Conner warm in ways the sun couldn’t.

“No seriously—how late did you get in from your mission last night?” Conner inquired. Tim had built up this bad habit of ignoring his needs. He wouldn’t just burn the midnight oil, he’d set the whole drum aflame but by the time the fire winded down, he’d end up looking like he needed to sleep for approximately a week. The pressed white shirt, expensive black pants, and the perfectly combed hair all contributing to his neat appearance might be enough to fool everyone else, but not Conner.

“Not _that_ late. I told you I had plenty of backup. And if it makes you feel any better I got some sleep on my way here.” Tim shut the doors behind them.

“If you say so. Maybe that’s why you look so tired,” Conner theorized. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Tim had slept at all, and even if he were telling the truth, he’d probably only gotten a few minutes to an hour in. But there was no point in arguing the same old stuff when he’d only just arrived.

Tim just shrugged and led him past the kitchen to the living room, but the two spaces weren’t really separated except by a dining table. The couch faced away from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the terrace (thus providing an excellent view of the city and Centennial Park) and towards the wall where a large flat-screen hung. On the other side of the living room was a smaller sitting area with a few bookshelves and a baby grand piano. The place wasn’t _that_ big compared to the other Wayne penthouses, but it was still decorated tastefully with modern furniture that would look so out of place back home at the farm.

“Must be nice to be rich,” Conner muttered under his breath. He’d said it a million times and he’d say it a million times more, he was sure.

“It certainly has its benefits,” Tim answered as usual before gesturing to a hallway that was set to the right of the flat screen. “That leads to the bedrooms. Yours is the first on the right. You can drop your stuff there.”

Conner nodded and zipped off to do as such, super speed and all. Once inside, he took in the simply decorated room and dropped his bag down at the foot of the queen-sized bed with fresh black sheets. What was it about these Bats and black? The whole apartment was more or less black-and-white, too, save for the fancy paintings. Though at least Tim had started favoring red, and the color combo made Conner smile to himself. Those were his colors and Tim looked good in them. And it was cute how flustered Tim had gotten when he’d explained he’d changed the colors of his Robin costume for Conner following Conner’s death, and then kept the change.

He tried not to think too hard about that—he always confused himself and ended up with a headache. Instead, he sped back out of the fancy bedroom, pleased that Tim had just made it to the couch in that time. “So you gonna’ tell me about that super-secret mission of yours or what?”

“It wasn’t secret. And if it was, wouldn’t telling you about it sort of ruin the point of it being a secret anyway?” Tim asked, sitting down. Conner sat down next to him.

“Maybe,” Conner shrugged. They both knew that Tim told him a _lot_ of his secrets—things that he didn’t even tell his own family, which was a surprisingly large amount of things especially during the time that Tim had spent on his own.

“Well,” Tim started in the tone that told Conner that he was going to get his secret, “it wasn’t anything too complicated. Drug bust of sorts—only it wasn’t just one cartel and it wasn’t local either. Cass has been tracking them for the last couple of weeks back in Hong Kong.”

“Why is it _always_ Gotham that these foreign dealers pick?”

“Though things have improved in Gotham—both economically and socially—there’s plenty of desperate people left. They make for easy prey and we can’t be everywhere at once, though we try. So the chances dealers have of getting away with a sale are actually pretty good. And now that we’ve shut down local suppliers, the market’s open for foreign dealers. It’s like a never-ending cycle, but we stop them as they appear.” Tim said it with a shrug. He seemed so nonchalant about it—and of course, to him, it really was no big deal—but Conner couldn’t imagine running around in circles like that. It’d drive him crazy. “We have to believe that what we do in Gotham makes a difference for the better, though sometimes it gets worse first.”

“What do you do then?”

“We carry on,” Tim said, having long-ago accepted the fact. Conner felt a little stupid for getting so upset over his own case. Tim dealt with things like that and a dozen more every single day. In fact, there were probably a hundred other things that Tim could be doing right now, but here he was because all Conner had done was _ask_. He didn’t even know what to make of that except to remember just how much he valued Tim’s friendship.

Tim turned to him when he didn’t say anything. “Speaking of drugs—how about that case of yours? Nothing happen between when you called and now?”

“Nope. Everything’s been quiet—which kind of freaks me out,” Conner told him. There hadn’t even been a carjacking or anything this morning.

“Well, I did some digging and found something… curious.” Just how Tim had found the time to research already was a question Conner was reluctant to ask.

“Like?”

“Like something in the autopsy report. I just got a look at it before you showed up and I definitely didn’t expect what I saw.” Tim pulled the laptop that was on the table onto his lap and opened it up to reveal several reports laid out side-by-side on the screen. More were tabbed behind. “Three of our victims actually died from severe tachycardia, not trauma. That is, their heart rate was so high that it caused a heart attack.”

“You think they got so freaked that their hearts clocked out?” People dying of fear was not unheard of. Some of Scarecrow’s victims went out that way, if help was too late to arrive. And not to mention he’d heard of people who died of a heart attack as they fell from buildings or planes. Heck, even haunted houses and roller coasters came with warnings.

“Most of these victims were pretty young. I mean, anyone can die from something like that, but it generally happens more with old people.”

“These victims don’t really seem that faint of heart,” Conner said, trying to wrack his brain to come up with something helpful. None of them had been over forty.

“The weirdness doesn’t end there, either,” Tim said. “Kevin Farrows didn’t have any other major trauma. He had cuts and bruises on his arms and legs, but that’s pretty much it. Fernando Montoya’s broken neck was likely paralytic but not fatal, though the other two victims died from their wounds. Amber Freeman’s stab wound is the most interesting, however.”

“‘Interesting?’” Conner was always sort of creeped out by what Tim found interesting. He’d grown used to it, though, so it became more of a running joke than anything.

“Well, the stab wound was from a knife that was used to cut the apples. It wasn’t particularly sharp from what I could see. Question then is how would the killer have gotten so close to Amber Freeman and her friend—close enough to pick up the knife—without the two of them at least moving away? But according to the reports, the prints on the knife belonged to the friend. So now the question changes to why did Amber Freeman’s friend stab her? A closer look revealed that the friend had defensive wounds on her arms apart from her _own_ stab wound—but this from another knife, probably also used to cut the apples. And the skin cells found under Freeman’s nails belong to the friend.” Tim explained.

“So Freeman attacked her own friend and the friend defended herself with a knife, after being stabbed with another one?” Conner concluded. That was so gruesome and random. There was no reason for the crime.

“Looks like it.”

“Why would Freeman attack her own friend when they were just sitting there eating apples?”

“That’s the _really_ weird part, though I think I have an answer for that, too.” Of course he did—he was Tim Drake. A mystery never stayed a mystery long with him. “The police will probably end up calling it foul play, but if we go back to Freeman’s autopsy report, it shows that there was a spike in her epinephrine and norepinephrine levels right around the time of her death. And not just a little. An adrenaline rush to the _very_ extreme. She might’ve actually died from her stab wound, but the others died from the resulting tachycardia,” Tim told him. He had that look in his eye that told Conner that he’d figured the rest out, too.

“And, let me guess, you think that Alpramine is what’s causing the adrenaline rush, which is causing the tachycardia, which is causing the heart attacks,” Conner ventured. Tim nodded in agreement. “But what’s the killer got to do with this?” Was it a mercenary hired to take out anyone who might reveal the faulty drug? But then how did Amber Freeman play into this?

“Well that’s the thing. I don’t think there is a killer.” Conner blinked. He didn’t know what Tim was getting at, but he knew better than to question Tim before he was finished explaining. Though Tim didn’t say anything else. He just looked at Conner, as if waiting for the gears in Conner’s head to finish turning.

“The drug’s not just causing an adrenaline rush—it’s also causing extreme aggression. All fight and no flight,” Conner figured. Holy shit. That’s why the last thing Jacqueline Farrows had said was her husband’s name. She wasn’t calling out for him, but trying to tell them what had happened. That’s why Amber Freeman attacked her friend.

“Now we have to figure out what’s in this drug that’s causing it and how the drug got FDA approval in the first place. I’m guessing that the reports submitted to the FDA weren’t entirely genuine.” Lois had suggested that too. But it still left a big question.

“Why—why would anyone do all this?” Conner asked. Were they using the victims like ginuea pigs for something? Was it just pure, malicious intent? Unlikely, but not impossible. He had come across his share of sadists before.

“That’s the million dollar question.” Tim placed the laptop on the coffee table and sunk back into the couch.

“What next, then?” Conner asked, though he knew the answer already. The look on Tim’s face told him that it was time for a mission.

“Looks like we ought to pay Jupiter Inc. a visit.”

 

A few hours later and the two of them were outside the Jupiter Inc. building located on the outskirts of Metropolis. Under the familiar cover of night they’d flown there and scoped the place out. The white building itself was more like a manufacturing plant in appearance. It was flat and sprawled across the suburban landscape in stark contrast to the towering skyscrapers of the city. On closer inspection thanks to his x-ray vision, Conner saw that there were several levels underground. Not more than three stories or so at the deepest, but worth noting. Though it wasn’t too unusual, all things considered.

The building wasn’t too heavily guarded. Just looked like basic night-shift security. By this time of night, it was pretty empty but that was the entire reason that the two of them had waited until nightfall in the first place. A lone employee here and there would prove easy to avoid and even useful if they needed intel.

“Time for infiltration?” Conner asked. They were standing in the loading bay, hidden from the view of the security cameras by cargo containers. Tim was studying a weird scanner and hacking device thing that Conner had never seen before.

“Yup. Scans reveal that our target is the file room, two floors underground.” Tim couldn’t get the full list of ingredients that went into Alpramine because the files that had been submitted to the FDA hadn’t been genuine. So now it was time for some old-fashioned detective work in order to get to the bottom of this. Conner was happy to have _something_ to do since sitting around all day while Tim did detective work just made him feel totally useless, especially since the entire day had been way too quiet.

“Where did you get that thing?” Conner asked as Tim folded the little device in half and slipped it into one of his many pockets.

“New development from WayneTech. Based a little off of Thanagarian technology.” All the Bats got their stuff from WayneTech nowadays. Conner didn’t remember it being so prolific commercially before he died, but apparently during his absence it had apparently taken off. Lex hadn’t been very happy about that, but there was little he could do, especially now that he was behind bars. Conner was glad about that. The last thing he needed right now what the added threat of Lex Luthor breathing down his neck as he was in Metropolis. This case was already hitting little too close to home. “You seem a little distracted.”

“Huh? What?” Conner blinked, suddenly realizing that he’d been sort of staring off into space. Tim quirked an eyebrow, which basically said _my point exactly, now spill it._ “It’s nothing, man.”

Tim crossed his arms.

“Okay fine—I’ve just been thinking about the case. Amber Freeman, especially. I just… sort of know what it’s like to lose control like that and hurt someone you care about.” Conner had meant that to come out a lot more casually than it did, and the look of concern on Tim’s face told him as much. Conner was sure that he’d never one hundred percent forgive himself for that time Luthor had got inside his head and made him hurt Tim and the others. Even if it hadn’t been his fault, it still haunted him, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he’d gotten over it. “It’s okay—I just want to give her the justice she deserves.” Maybe that’d help bring him some peace too.

“Alright. Then let’s go.” Tim still looked entirely unconvinced but he didn’t press the issue any further. Conner was relieved. He always felt a little overwhelmed when Tim gave him that look—the way his eyes would go sort of wide while his brows furrowed slightly with worry. He’d always have this incredibly _gentle_ look in his eyes, filled with unspeakable compassion, and Conner never really understood why it always got to him so much. Never really understood why it always disarmed him completely.

He was getting distracted again—he had to focus, but why was it suddenly so hard? He shook his head to clear out all the thoughts he didn’t have time to entertain right now.

“Yeah, let’s go. Night’s a-wasting,” he said. Tim looked at him for a moment and Conner knew him well enough to know that Tim was definitely seeing right through him. Regardless, Tim nodded once before pulling up his cowl. They made their way up the nearby ramp and through the loading bay doors just as the security cameras rotated in the opposite direction. Tim had no doubt disabled them, causing them to loop uselessly, but Conner figured it was just an old habit of his to avoid them anyway.

Once inside, it was just a short distance to the stairwell that they took down two floors. All the while Conner kept an ear out for security guards and right before they exited the stairwell, he did a once-over with his x-ray vision, nodding when the coast was clear. When they got to the fork in the hallway, a helpful sign told them that to the right were the labs, while to the left were the file room and other clerical offices. Silently, the two of them made their way to the file room, dodging a sleepy-looking security guard who had a cup of coffee in his hand as he headed off into one of the offices.

It took Conner all of three seconds to pick the lock with his TTK (normally he would’ve settled for breaking the lock, but Tim had been teaching him about finesse lately and it was probably wiser not to leave a trace of their presence behind) and for them to break into the rather small file room. Well, it was pretty big, but Conner had seen a lot worse.

“You know where to look or do I have to super-speed this one?” Conner asked. He preferred not looking through each and every file manually. Even with super-speed, it was still a giant pain in the ass.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll be with all the other drugs, Conner. Alphabetized, as per regulations,” Tim said. His tone was only slightly patronizing.

“Shut up.” Tim went over to the respective file cabinet—actually, seven—and it only took him a few seconds to find the manila file for Alpramine. He flipped it open and studied it closely before frowning.

“What?”

“This file’s the same the fake one submitted to the FDA,” Tim said as he looked back in the file cabinet. He came up empty and with an annoyed noise he slipped the file back into place. “I didn’t think it’d be this easy. We need to find the real file.”

“Where would that be?”

“Not entirely sure. Could be anywhere. In fact, it might not even be here.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

“The labs are on the other end of this hallway, right?”

“Yeah?” Conner couldn’t see the look in Tim’s eye because of the cowl, but he was certain that Tim just had an idea.

“What are the chances that there’s someone there we can interrogate?”

“Decent. We gonna’ play good-cop, bad-cop?”

“If it comes to that. And don’t we usually play bad-cop, worse-cop?” Tim asked with a smirk. He was always the worse-cop. The crooks never saw it coming. Conner knew from experience that Tim could be terrifying when he wanted to be.

“You actually planning on terrorizing a poor scientist?” Conner asked as they slipped back into the hallway, locking the door behind them and leaving no trace of their presence.

“No,” Tim said simply. Conner didn’t think he would—freaking out innocent civilians generally wasn’t in the book, not even for Batman. But if the scientist happened to involved with this whole scheme, then he wouldn’t really be an innocent civilian, would he?

They crossed the hallway, Tim’s feet inhumanly quiet even on the white stone flooring and Conner floating silently behind, making sure they were clear. Thankfully for them, the labs were behind solid walls and doors, not glass windows. Aesthetically appealing as it may be, they proved tricky during missions when they wanted to keep concealed. The small wired window in the door they could deal with easily.

Tim tried the knob and found it unlocked. On the other side they found that it led into another smaller hallway, lined with a few doors on either side. “Oh great—which one do we go through?” Conner asked. It was more a rhetorical question though, since he started scanning with his x-ray vision before Tim answered.

“It’s like an old proverb, isn’t it?”

“All empty except the second one on the left. Just one lone scientist inside, facing the other way,” Conner said after blinking hard. It always felt a little weird switching between visions.

“Looks like we’re lucky.”                          

“Don’t jinx it dude,” Conner warned him as he threw open the door. The lone scientist, seated at a counter with a stack of papers surrounding him, spun around in his chair, startled. He was young, probably not much older than they were. His glasses were slightly askew, his short brown hair was messy, and actually his entire appearance was sort of rumpled. But considering how late it was at night, it wasn’t that surprising.

“What—?” he started, but stopped when he saw Conner and Tim—or rather, Superboy and Red Robin. He took off his glasses, squinted, and gave a surprised _yelp_ and rushed over, knocking over a clipboard or two. He clasped Tim’s hand with both of his, shaking it with gusto as a huge smile spread on his face. “Oh my goodness!”

“Uh—” Tim said eloquently. Red Robin flew out the window and was replaced by socially awkward Tim Drake in a cowl, all because of a little well-deserved recognition.

“Red Robin! Oh my lord—I’m such a big fan!” the man said, completely ignoring Conner in his excitement.

“Oh—”

“You saved me once from a mugging, outside Robinson Park, do you remember? Of course not—you probably save like a hundred people every week! I-I mean, Batman’s cool and all, but _jeez_! Red Robin! Oh gosh—is it weird that I have such crush on you even though I know like nothing about you? Because I totally do!” Aaron Winters, as his nametag read, seemed like he was going to burst with delight. Conner prayed that Tim wouldn’t say something weird about hero-worship or whatever and ruin the whole thing. He could be a wet blanket sometimes. It was a defense mechanism.

“Well,” Tim started. Conner waited for the awkwardness to ensure. “Lucky for you I’m currently single.”

Wait _what_?

Conner almost did a double take as the blush and coy smile spread across Winters’ face. He didn’t expect Tim Drake to turn into Tim _Wayne_. He waited for his brain to finish rebooting as he tried to take in the concept of Tim openly flirting with a complete stranger. Okay, maybe not _complete_ , but still a stranger. Actually, Conner was pretty thrown off by the idea of Tim flirting in general, which was weird because he’d had plenty of girlfriends in the past. Not to mention that hot Lynx chick who made out with him midair as they fell like ten stories or whatever. That was a story he’d had a hard time believing.

“Now if only I wasn’t so married to my work, huh?” Winters said looking at his slightly scuffed shoes, his blush not fading at all. It was taking at least half of Conner’s brainpower to prevent his jaw from falling to the floor.

“I know how that is.” Tim’s tone was something Conner had never heard before. It made him feel _strange_ hearing Tim sounding so… charming.

“Though I guess this time it worked out in my favor. Oh!” Winters reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. “W-Would you mind giving me your autograph?” he asked bashfully.

“Sure.” Tim hesitated for a moment before scribbling onto the paper. Conner peered over his shoulder to see that his handwriting was totally different. Probably so no one could make the connection between Red Robin and Tim Drake-Wayne. Conner had to chuckle internally at that. It wasn’t like anyone would go through the trouble of randomly analyzing the handwriting and make the connection (probably), but it was so _Tim_ to be that paranoid. And at least Tim’s weirdness was normal.

“So uh—I bet you’re here on a mission, huh? Oh man, I hope everything’s okay,” Winters said, scratching the back of his neck as Tim handed him the notepad.

“Actually, what do you know about Alpramine?” Conner said before Tim could. Winters turned to him as if just realizing his presence.

“Oh, Superboy—” Yeah okay, he totally hadn’t realized Conner was there until now. “Well, I don’t know much. Just a lab tech, you know? Just moved over from Gotham a few weeks ago. But I heard some stuff—shady stuff. Something about the inspectors who analyzed the drugs might’ve been paid off. Don’t know why the company would do that though. There couldn’t really be something wrong with it, right?”

“On the contrary. Heard about those mysterious murders lately?” Tim asked, switching back to Red Robin mode.

“Of course. It’s been all over the news. And the internet, too. But… what’s that got to do with it?”

“We believe that there’s something in it—something that’s not in the official file—that causes a severe and sudden spike in blood levels of epinephrine and norepinephrine levels, ultimately leading to a myocardial infarction. Along with the added bonus of extreme aggression which causes patients to lose the ability to recognize even loved ones.” Tim explained as Winters pondered.

“That’s seriously messed up. Sounds like something that affects the brain directly, but there are literally hundreds of things, or a combination of things, which might cause that.” Winters sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Man, I wish I could be of more help. But all I know is that there’s a completely separate file room in the westernmost building. During orientation we were told that it was just of backup files, in case anything were to happen to the file room in this building here. I always thought it was pretty silly, since all the files can be found in the database anyway, but you know how paranoid those old coots in charge of everything can be. So I never questioned it, figuring that they were just old-school here. Maybe the original file is in there? Now that I think about it, no one I know has clearance to get into that building. I certainly don’t. Didn’t think much of that either, until now…. I feel like a fool.” Winters more-or-less collapsed into the nearest chair.

“You couldn’t have known. Thank you for telling us what you know, though. Your help is greatly appreciated.” Tim said. Winters smiled a little and shrugged.

“Maybe I should consider employment elsewhere.”

“You could always come back to Gotham.” And there was Tim Wayne again.

“Definitely has its perks.” Dear God was Winters _checking Tim out?_ Conner felt something flare up inside of him and suddenly he was very impatient.

“We’ll get to that secret file room, then. See if we can get what we came here for,” he interjected, trying to not to sound rude but really, really not wanting to witness any more of whatever was going on.

“Oh, okay. I should probably get home, too,” Winters said a little sadly, glancing at his watch. He looked back at Tim. “I still can’t believe I got a chance to meet you! And um, be careful. There might be lax security around here but something tells me that if Jupiter Inc.’s really got something to hide, the west building will be pretty well guarded.”

“Thank you and stay safe,” Tim bid him before he and Conner left (finally!). Winters waved goodbye just before Conner pulled the door shut.

“Oh my god it was like I was _invisible_ ,” Conner groaned, running a hand over his face.

“Is it so weird for you when you’re not the center of attention?” Tim teased. Conner shot him a look.

“You make it sound like I’m an attention whore.”

“You _do_ seem to get touchy when it’s not you a civilian fawns over.” Tim walked back down the corridor and Conner followed, floating behind with his arms crossed.

“I do _not_ get touchy! That is totally not even the point,” Conner defended weakly, feeling the heat rise in his face.

“So then the only logical conclusion is that you’re jealous.” Tim smirked and Conner balked, which only caused Tim to smirk _even more_ , if that was at all possible.

“Of what?!” It came out a little more defensively than Conner had meant it to. He tried to convince himself that Tim’s accusation was totally untrue but a part of him, a part that he thought he’d exorcised a long time ago, told him otherwise.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Tim sounded way too smug but there wasn’t much Conner could do about it except feel indignant as they went back into the hallway.

“Don’t we have other things to worry about?” he tried. Conner had become proficient in understanding Tim’s non-words ages ago, so Tim’s following soft hum of agreement basically meant this conversation was to be put on hold, but only until the mission was over. Conner would have preferred the one that meant that the conversation itself over and that Tim would no longer entertain it, but at least this bought him some time if nothing else.

The two of them snuck quietly back out to the loading bay. It would be easier to make for the west building outside under the cover of darkness, rather than trying to navigate through the well-lit hallways indoors while also trying to avoid security. Thankfully, there were few guards to begin with and most of them were posted towards the front and back of the building, probably more to ward off vandals than anything. It was easy to traverse their way to the westernmost building and with the help of a handy decryption gadget that Tim had stashed in his utility belt, it was even easier to break inside.

“I doubt what we’re looking for is on this floor,” Tim said once they were inside. The building was built similarly to the others, but unlike the other which had been fairly lit, this one was not. Only a few maintenance lights illuminated the short hallway. Also, instead of the stairs being neatly relegated to a stairwell off to the side, right in front of the door from which they entered was a set of stairs leading down to the lower level. There was a wall a few feet on the opposite side of the stairs, were the hallway split to the left and right. Thus they couldn’t see down either hallways, but that also meant that no one could see them. Conner thought it was a poor choice in design, since it meant that the entrance wasn’t clearly visible, but there was that saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“You’d be right. Pretty huge file room three floors down,” he said after a quick inspection. This floor itself was empty. The offices were vacant and there was a lone janitor all the way at the end of one of the hallways.

“Screw getting a new scanner—I think I’ll just keep you around.”

“I like that idea. I’m bulletproof, too.” Conner spared a moment to wonder if Tim would actually call him once in a while (or better yet, _return to the team_ ) but tried not to get his hopes up. That didn’t mean he’d give up on trying to convince Tim to return to the Titans, though. No way. But that was a mission for later.

Tim didn’t say anything further, though he looked like he was about to. He must’ve changed his mind though, since he said nothing and instead led the way down the stairs. “What’s on this floor?” he asked when they descended down one level.

“More empty offices. One security guard in the left hallway towards the end. Making his way towards us but slowly. No threat,” Conner said. On the next floor he continued, “Another guard heading the opposite direction.” On the floor with the file room he said, “Empty. But there’s vending machine with those chewy peanut butter bars that are delicious.”

Tim turned to look at him. A small smile was on his lips and his eyebrow was probably arched in the way that said _really, Kon?_ Conner got that look at lot.

The room they were looking for was as unimpressive from the outside as all the others. Just a white industrial door with a wired window and a simple lock in the handle. With a little more TTK magic, Conner popped the lock open. “For a secret building with heavily restricted access, this place has rather lax security,” Tim murmured.

“You think something’s wrong? Maybe the lab tech wasn’t telling the whole truth?” Conner asked as they stepped into the room. It was _much_ larger than the other file room. In fact, he’d seen stores smaller than this. Tim pulled out a little flashlight and the beam of light revealed that there was even a small set of stairs leading to a lower level that Conner hadn’t seen from above.

“You saw him, Kon. He had no clue. There wasn’t anything in his behavior to indicate that he was lying. He was even more in the dark than we are,” Tim said. He seemed to know where to look since he immediately made his way to the lower level.

“If you say so,” Conner conceded. “Got any ideas on where to start looking?”

“According to the signs, pretty much all the files on his level are administrative. Check in the back for me, though. I’ll head downwards and see if it’s there.” Conner did as Tim instructed but came up short. The only files there were about business models or something. So he decided to join Tim on the lower level, refraining from using his super speed in case it disrupted all the loose files that sat on the closely-arranged shelves.

“These guys should probably just switch to digital and call it a day,” he said. Tim was already going through one of the cabinets by the time Conner got there.

“It would make my life a lot easier if all I had to do was hack into a secure server somewhere. I could do it from the comfort of my own couch,” Tim said, shuffling between files. Conner joined the search but the process was still too slow and manual for his liking. However, he was glad that this mission was pretty low-key. No monsters or mutants or anything in between.

“Bingo!” Conner spun around to see Tim holding up one of the files with a grin on his face.

“Already?”

“It _is_ alphabetized.”

“Right.” Conner rolled his eyes but was relieved. This had been (relatively) quick and easy—not how most of their missions went.

“This _does_ look different,” Tim said going through the file. He pulled out what Conner guessed was a digital scanner thing and went swiped it over each paper in the file. “More stuff. I’m guessing because it’s got the legitimate list of ingredients along with the actual results of the trials which would mean that my theory’s right. There is the off chance that I could be wrong and this is just filled with useless fodder that they refined into the more concise file that’s online. But it’s unlikely.”

“Yeah since when have you ever been wrong?” Conner expected Tim to make a snarky remark about how he was never wrong, but Tim’s initial smile faltered a little. Conner’s heart faltered with it and he tried to hide his concern.

“More than I like to admit, lately,” Tim said in almost a whisper. His tone wasn’t sad, but… tired. Conner swallowed uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. Over the years he’d grown accustom to Tim being confident, almost to the point of sheer cockiness—not unlike himself, which was probably why their early relationship had been so adversarial. Since Conner had come back, Tim had been different. The same, but somehow _not_. He was still as confident, proud, and assertive as ever, but he’d changed. Or… what if Tim had always been this _intense_ but Conner just hadn’t seen it until now?

“Are you alright, Kon?” Conner blinked. “You spaced out again.”

“What? Uh, yeah. I was just waiting for you to finish that scanning stuff or whatever,” Conner quickly covered.

“Oh.” Tim was definitely not persuaded but at least that was normal too.

“Anyway, if you’re done, we—” Conner started, breaking off abruptly when the lights suddenly turned on. “Shit.”

Tim somehow returned the file to its proper location and stowed both his flashlight and scanner in one fluid movement. He was off before Conner had even registered it. “I noticed a smaller door on this level, towards the back,” he informed in a whisper. It was only a few feet away, partially hidden by a large shelf, but unblocked.

Lucky for them it had no lock either and led into a long yet narrow service tunnel of sorts. It was a tight fit, only wide enough for one person to push a file cart in front of them, if anything. Above were various pipes and a few naked bulbs hanging here in long intervals.

“You think that was security guard doing routine patrol?” Conner asked, following as quickly as he could. Though he didn’t have to run sideways or anything, he couldn’t maneuver as easily as Tim, who had narrow shoulders and a slender build.

“Doubt it. I’ve got a bad feeling,” Tim said. He’d slipped back into Red Robin mode, his sentences terse and his tone urgent but calm. “Can you see in the dark?”

“What? Yeah. Why?”

“Switching to night vision. Knock out all these lights.” Conner ran his hand along the side of the tunnel, reaching out with this TTK. Up the wall, across the pipes over the ceiling, down the wire, and exploding the nearest bulb from the inside before moving on the next one, then the next, and so on until the path in front of them was entirely darkened. He squinted a little, trying to get his eyes to see in the darkness. It felt strange or even a little painful like he was overstretching a muscle.

Before Conner could ask what the point of this was, he heard the loud noise of a door being thrown open from the end of the tunnel, followed by the very predictable order of “Freeze!” He’d never figure out how Tim knew to prepare. Either Tim had superpowers that he kept secret or it was one of those freaky Bat-things (which was probably a superpower in its own right).

“Lights are out in the tunnel!” Conner heard a man cry. There were two of them from what he could see with his limited vision. He hadn’t mastered it quite yet, and it was imperfect to say the least, but he could make out one guard behind the other. They were much more armored than any run-of-the-mill security guard he’d seen on the premise previously.

“All yours,” was the only thing Tim said before running forwards a little, jumping off the walls of the tunnel, and suspending himself from the pipes above. He’d gotten out of the way, allowing Conner to surge forward with a burst of speed, slamming into the first guard. The other guard fell too.

“That was easy,” Conner said. The first guard had been knocked out from the sheer force of Conner hitting him at high speed and the second guard by not only that, but also from hitting his head when he fell. At least they were wearing helmets.

“I think that was just the welcoming party,” Tim said. He’d swung back down already. “We need to get out of this tunnel quickly. There’s not enough space to maneuver and while you could just bulldoze them from one side, if they start filling in from the other side… well, I’d rather my body not be riddled with bullet holes.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice—I feel claustrophobic in here.” Conner had already begun to continue down the tunnel, stepping over the fallen guards as Tim expressed his concerns. He never liked small spaces.

Thankfully, they’d already covered the majority of the tunnel so there were only a few feet left until they reached the door that led into an open area. There were various plastic containers scattered around the room along with cluttered desks off to the side. He could only guess at the purpose of this room, but seeing as how it was connected to the filing room, it was probably where they put together all those documents. The ceiling was still low, but at least there was ample cover. And Tim would probably need that cover, since a few heavy footfalls later, more guards streamed into the room.

“Freeze!” one of the repeated. However, the others simply open fired without waiting. Tim quickly ducked behind one of the larger crates. It wouldn’t hold long under fire, but it was child’s play for Conner to disarm and disable all the assailants in the room.

“Hello, Boy of Steel here. Gonna’ need more than bullets,” Conner counseled them once they were unconscious.

“Please don’t give them tactical advice,” Tim reprimanded in return. Conner just shrugged apologetically before following him down the hall.

“Where do you think they came from? I didn’t see these guards earlier,” Conner asked as they hung a left. The stairs to the upper level were directly in front, but no doubt there’d be heavy opposition.

“We might’ve tripped a silent alarm when we got into the file room. Might mean they’ve got something to hide, which is good news for us. Bad news is now we have to fight through these guards, who seem to be more trained than regular security personnel,” Tim said. He had a batarang ready in his hand, which was good because a guard suddenly bursted out from one of the offices. Tim threw the batarang without hesitation, hitting the man straight in the hand and causing his firearm to go clattering down the white tile. Tim took it upon himself to subdue the man further with a flying side kick.

They pushed further down the hallway, facing heavy opposition once they got to the stairs. But with a combination of Conner’s powers and Tim’s martial arts and crazy bat-tricks, they made it up to the top level, only to find dozens of more guards pouring in both from the entrance and from the other side of the hallway. Where the hell were these guys coming from? Felt like for every one they took out, two more appeared. His ears rang with the sound of yelling and the bullets exploding out of the barrels of pistols. Bullets couldn’t hurt him and the fact that they just bounced off his steel-like skin generally frustrated most assailants. For some reason, that would always draw their fire towards him. It was like if they just kept at it, just kept firing away, at least _one_ bullet would make it past Conner’s invulnerability. That wasn’t true but it at least drew fire away from Tim who was not so bulletproof.

Just as Conner managed to take down a reasonable amount of the guards, Tim cried out. Conner turned around just in time to witness him put down one of the guards with a flying scissor kick, stun two more with one of his Taser-like gadgets, and trip one down the nearby flight of stairs before clutching at his arm.

He’d been hit.

“Okay, it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge,” Conner decided. He’d had gone easy on the guards, trying to minimize injuries since they were only doing their jobs after all, but now Tim had gotten hurt. He sped over to him and scooped him up before speeding through the entrance which was (for the moment) clear. Not bothering to worry about property damage, he wrapped his TTK around Tim and launched off into the cloudy night sky, breaking the sound barrier in his haste.

“Are you okay?” he asked, leveling out and slowing down in his flight.

“Yeah,” Tim said, pressing a button on his suit to deactivate it so he could pull his cowl off. “That was a bit… sudden, Kon.”

“You got _shot,_ dude. We got what we came for and there wasn’t any reason to stay. I figured we might as well leave.”

“It was a knife, actually. Never thought I’d get slashed by a security guard, though. But those guys weren’t normal. The one that got me knew capoeira, I think. Didn’t see that coming.” Tim was applying pressure to the wound and he sounded alright, but that didn’t stop Conner from freaking out.

“That’s not a good sign,” Conner said. But at that moment, he wasn’t overly concerned about Jupiter Inc.’s security. He was a little preoccupied. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not made of porcelain,” Tim argued. Conner wondered if he was about to get a lecture or something. Instead Tim just sighed and leaned his head against Conner’s shoulder. Usually Tim objected to being carried bridal-style but a wrist clasp was out of the question because of his injury. Still, Tim would usually curl up on himself like a cat instead of… _this_. It wasn’t like it was too intimate a gesture or anything. They were plenty comfortable with each other after years of saving each other’s lives and being on a team together. Conner just didn’t know why it made his heart race and his altitude dip suddenly. He quickly corrected it, wondering if Tim noticed, but thankfully Tim was a little busy examining his wound. Conner wasn’t certain how much Tim could see, high above the lights of the city outskirts, but the moon must’ve been enough because Tim concluded, “I’ll need stitches.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital, then,” Conner said. He’d actually set course for that in the first place because he knew it was worse than Tim was making it out to be.

“No. The apartment’s got plenty of supplies. Certainly enough for me to stitch myself up,” Tim insisted.

“What? Are you serious? Look, I know someone in—”

“It’s fine. And yes, I’m serious. I’ve patched myself up more times than I can count, and this should be an easy job.”

“If you say so.” Conner begrudgingly altered course towards the apartment once they hit city limits. He knew he couldn’t force Tim to the hospital and it just seemed wrong to argue with someone who was injured.

The lights of the city passed below, starting as a few lone waves before coalescing into a single ocean. The various skyscrapers loomed ahead, some of them lit and others standing in the darkness like sentinels in the night. The soft emerald glow of the WayneTech Tower’s sign served as a beacon, guiding Conner towards it with the familiar logo that made him feel like he was in on the most important secret in the world.

“I hope I didn’t rain down blood across the city,” Tim said as Conner set him down on the terrace. He held the door open while Tim shuffled inside, taking off his cape, belt and bandolier.

“I can see the headlines now,” Conner joked. Or he tried to, though he really wasn’t feeling jovial. But he had to say something to avoid just _staring_ at Tim’s wound. When Tim shrugged off his costume, leaving him in only a fitted t-shirt and compression shorts, Conner got a clear look at how bad the gash really was. It wasn’t huge, but he could tell that it was _deep_. Tim hadn’t been slashed—he’d been practically stabbed. Conner was just grateful that it hadn’t been in the region of Tim’s vital organs.

Tim ducked behind the kitchen counter briefly and pulled out a small trauma kit. Settling down on the stool at the counter, he began to disinfect the wound. “You want me to help?” Conner offered, knowing in advance what the answer would be.

“No, I’ve got this.” Tim fished out the sterile sutures and needle from the small kit, along with bandages.

“Oh my god, you’re actually going to do this yourself?” Conner asked, wincing internally at the thought. He hadn’t really thought it through when Tim had told him he’d stich himself up.

“Uh, yeah.” Tim quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And you’re not going to anesthetize it? At all?”

“Kit doesn’t have local anesthetic. Don’t worry, Kon. I’ve done this before.” Conner began to wonder just how many times that entailed. Tim winced as the needle first pierced the skin, but he drew a breath and continued. As he watched Tim sew up his own wound with a disturbing amount of calmness, a horrible thought popped into Conner’s head.

“Tim, just how much pain is normal for you?”

Tim stopped in the middle of his work, slowly meeting Conner’s gaze. For a few seconds his eyes went wide, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. They were so blue—a like the sky after a storm, and it was a color Conner often dreamt about. He swallowed visibly before turning his attention back to the few stitches that were left, shrugging a little with his good shoulder. That was as much an answer he was willing to give.

Conner closed his eyes, wondering if not seeing it would help. But his other senses took over. He could hear the subtle hitch in Tim’s breath every time he drew the needle through the skin. He could hear the way Tim’s heartbeat fluctuated with it. Hell, even if he just barely tried, he could hear the air in Tim’s lungs and the blood flowing through his veins and arteries. It helped to remind him that Tim was okay—that he was sitting _right there_ and he had to hold back his TTK from reaching out for him. The worst part, however, was the scent.

The smell of blood was not something new to him, but it was never pleasant. It wasn’t just metallic. If it were just that or even something chemical and clinical, then Conner wouldn’t be so disturbed by it. No, there was a distinctly human smell that filled his nostrils and nearly choked him. He could almost _taste_ it. And suddenly there were too many all at once; the sharpness of the antiseptic, the lingering aroma of fresh-laundry still on Tim’s clothes, the clean scent of his deodorant, the smell of sweat on his skin, and all too strongly: blood.

It was all too much. Conner felt like all his senses were overloaded—like the first time he’d stepped out of the sterile environment his tube. It brought out the worst thoughts he could think of. Thoughts of an injured Tim—lying there, broken and battered. Lying in a pool of his own blood, unable to cry out because of his punctured lungs, unable to move because of his broken bones. It was a horrific thought, but what made it worse was how realistic it was at the same time. But Conner just couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle the idea of losing Tim. His mind just couldn’t process it. Conner knew he’d literally go insane if anything happened to Tim—if anything happened to the one person who was most important to him.

“Done.” Tim’s calm voice broke through Conner’s thoughts for a brief moment. He placed the needle down along with the scissors he used to snip the end of the sutures. He looked up and his face instantly seemed worried. “Conner, are you alright?”

No.

Conner was really far from alright. Tim was fine right now, in this moment, but he’d been so damn reckless lately and with such little regard of his own well-being that it was nearly a miracle that he was even here. In just an instant, with just a bullet, with just a knife, with _conceivably anything,_ the most important person in Conner’s life could be gone.

Seized with an unknown sense of panic, Conner slipped off his stool and staggered backwards. He forced himself to regain some semblance of control, preventing the pain of more sensory overload, but it wasn’t working.

“Conner?” Tim asked, looking as panicked as Conner felt. “Kon, what’s going on? Oh my god, did I trigger something?”

“What? No, I—” Conner started.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim said. The utterly remorseful look in his eyes that was too much for Conner to bear. Too much because Tim was worrying about the _wrong thing_.

“It’s not that—I just—” How was he supposed to explain that Tim had it all backwards? That he should think of himself for once?

Without being very conscious of what he was doing, Conner flew out the glass doors back into the Metropolis sky. In his haze he just barely heard Tim calling after him and by the time he came to, it was too late to go just go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter in time for the weekend! I apologize for it's enormous length (and thus, the time it took to deliver) but I hope everyone enjoys it. 
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos, subscribe, bookmark, etc. And I especially look forward to reading comments and questions!


	4. A Moment of Truth

Conner was flying on pure instinct. He wasn’t even sure of what direction he was heading, but the way the buildings kept shrinking in size before being replaced by farmland meant that he was going towards Smallville. He might’ve flown nearly halfway with his eyes closed. Or at least, it sure felt like that. And he sure _felt_ like such a tool. How the hell could he have flown out on Tim, giving absolutely no explanation whatsoever? It wasn’t like he was explicitly angry with Tim or anything! Exasperated or even a little frustrated sure, but… Tim hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Had he?

Conner shook his head. Of course Tim hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all just too confusing. He didn’t know why the images of Tim being hurt kept popping up in his head—bombarding him with feelings he just didn’t know how to process. What did it all mean? Did it even mean anything at all or was he just totally overreacting? Yeah, that sounded about right. Only a grade-A jerk would fly out on his injured best friend. But Conner—as much as he hated to admit it—just didn’t have it in him to go back and face Tim. How could he when he couldn’t even face himself? There were just too many things to sort out before he even attempted to explain himself to Tim, who at this moment was either worried sick or preparing to punch him in the face with a kryptonite gauntlet. The latter would actually be better.

A few minutes of flying later, the Kent farm came into view. The barn with its faded red paint and the field with its nearly ready-to-harvest crops were illuminated by the moonlight. The little yellow farmhouse was dark save for the porch light that Ma always kept on. It cast a warm glow that beckoned any weary wanderer and for the hundredth time since his resurrection, Conner wondered how he had ever hated Smallville.

He landed on the porch and though he’d left his spare key back at the penthouse, a little TTK went a long way. Once inside he turned on the kitchen light and leaned against the counter while filling up a glass of water. As he took a long drink, he heard something bound down the stairs. He almost braced himself before realizing that it was Krypto. The superdog more-or-less erupted into the kitchen and gleefully bounced at Conner’s feet, barking excitedly.

“Krypto you dumb dog, you’re going to wake up Ma!” Conner chastised in a (loud) whisper. At this rate, the neighbors would be awoken too.

“Too late—she’s already up!” came Ma’s voice from the stairs. After descending, she stepped into the kitchen, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a smile on her face. “Conner Kent, I told you to _call_ before you came over. Now how am I supposed to have that pie ready for you?”

“I’m not really here for pie, Ma. So don’t worry,” Conner admitted.

“I know,” Ma said as her expression softened. “I can tell. You have that world-weary look on your face.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“I’ve just had practice, is all” she said, coming over to him and giving him a much needed hug. “Now go on and sit down at the table. You look like you could use something warm to drink.”

“You’re not going to make me a glass of milk, are you?” What was it with these warm beverages?

“No, why?” Ma asked, looking confused.

“Never mind.”

“Alright then. How’s hot chocolate sound?”

“Perfect,” Conner said, sitting down at the table as instructed. Krypto followed and lay down by his feet. “Sorry for waking you, Ma.”

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You wouldn’t be here unless it was important and frankly, there’s no other place I’d rather you be. And it’s a chance to see you—so there’s that!” she said, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. She didn’t say anything else while she prepared the hot chocolate, thus giving Conner a chance to get his thoughts together (or attempt to) before she asked.

Soon, she came over to the table with two mugs in her hand and pushed one towards Conner. “Tell me what’s wrong, dear.”

“God, where do I even start?” Conner muttered, looking at the dark liquid in his mug. He took a sip, savoring the sweetness and rich taste. Maybe Lois and Ma were onto something.

“Why don’t you tell me what this is all about to begin with?”

“Well, Tim and I busted into this place tonight to look for files regarding this ‘case’ I’m working on. We got what we needed, but Tim got hurt. He’s fine—he stitched himself up and everything. I guess I sort of freaked out about him being all reckless lately,” he started.

“You’re worried about him. That’s perfectly normal….” Ma trailed off, knowing that there was probably more the story.

“Also I sort of flew out on him. Without offering any sort of explanation. He probably thinks I lost it or something.”

“Conner Kent, that poor boy is probably worried sick about you!” Ma didn’t raise her voice but the exasperation was audible nonetheless. “Did you at least call him by now? Or text or whatever it is you kids do to keep in touch nowadays?”

“Er, no.” Conner had left his communicator on the dining table and had left without it. Conner looked at the phone hanging on the wall for a moment, contemplating, before turning his attention back to his hot chocolate.

“Why don’t you give him a call now, at least? Just to tell him you’re okay.”

“Because there’s more to it.” He stood up, finishing the last of his hot chocolate with a long sip. Krypto looked at him quizzically and followed him to the sink where he placed the empty mug. Conner leaned against the counter and faced Ma again, who was nursing her mug and waiting patiently for him to continue. When he didn’t, Krypto nudged him a little. “Ma, I can tell you anything, right?”

“Of course you can, dear,” Ma said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And honestly, Conner didn’t know why he was asking such a stupid question. He was a genetic clone of Clark and Lex Luthor, for Christ’s sake. He was half alien, a scientific marvel, a superhero. If Ma could accept all of that, then there was very little that would probably surprise her.

“It’s just that….” Conner didn’t know where to take it from there, so he figured he may as well start at the beginning. “When we first met, Tim and I _hated_ each other. We couldn’t stand each other. I thought he was stuck-up and bossy and he thought I was a tactless idiot and hell if we weren’t both right. But then we went through so much together and we became friends. Us! _Friends_! Now it seems obvious, but back then? I thought there was no way I’d ever get along with him. And then all of a sudden—or maybe it was slowly, I dunno—we were _best_ friends. Even after the whole thing with Luthor getting inside my head and everything, at the end of the day, Tim was always there for me no matter what. He was someone I could count on and trust. We confided in each other all the things we couldn’t tell anyone else. And then… somewhere along the way, I fell out of the realm of friendship and into the land of _more_ -ness.”

“Oh, honey,” Ma said softly with a small smile. But Conner wasn’t quite finished.

“So when he does stupid stuff like that, it freaks me out. I-It’s like lately, he doesn’t even care about himself. Like he’s just _baiting_ death and I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how to get him to stop.” Conner had no idea how to tell Tim how important he was to him. Partly because he wasn’t entirely sure just where in the land of “more-ness” he was. No, that wasn’t true, at least not entirely. He’d spent years talking himself out of it, giving himself excuse after excuse. If he was going to tell Tim how much he cared, he needed to honest with himself first.

Slumped against the counter, Conner looked at the floor and sighed. “I love him.”

It was less of admittance than it was an acceptance. (And his feelings were by no means platonic but he was sure Ma would pick up on that.) She set down her mug and stood up, walking over to him slowly with a caring expression before giving him a hug. Conner put his arms around her and let her hold him, burying his face in her shoulder. “What do I do, Ma? What do I do?”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” she started, pulling away, “but you need to tell him.”

“I don’t even know if he feels the same way. This isn’t exactly the type of thing you can dump on your best friend and expect everything to be totally fine if it all ends up blowing up in your face.” However, what Conner did know what that Tim was the best thing that ever happened to him, and that their friendship was the most important thing in his life. Sure there was a chance of it becoming something great—something more which he desperately wanted, but… if admitting how he felt meant screwing it all up, then no thanks. He’d rather endure this pain than cause a rift between them. If he confessed and Tim didn’t feel the same way, they could just pretend like it never happened, but Conner didn’t want that. He’d know that every time he looked at Tim, he wouldn’t just be looking, but _longing_ what could have been _._ And Tim would know.

God, he was in so deep he didn’t even know where to start climbing.

“I wish I had more advice but I’ll admit that I don’t,” Ma said, her hand on his shoulder. “But I have no doubt you’ll figure it out. I still believe that it’s important to be honest with him. You can’t keep something this important from him.”

Conner knew she was right, of course. That didn’t mean that it helped much. He just didn’t want to think about it anymore—he’d be perfectly satisfied pushing it all away to some dark corner of his mind like he usually did. Besides, he had other things to worry about than his own stupid love life, didn’t he? Like the case? Why did this suddenly take precedence over the case? He ought to have his priorities straighten out, he figured. He’d add that to the list of his character defects.

Just then, Krypto suddenly stood up. Until now, he’d been sitting quietly at Conner’s feet providing moral support. But then he rushed over to the door and started barking. “What is it, boy?” Ma asked. Conner went to investigate, side-stepping Krypto and opening the door. Krypto followed him out into the darkness but there didn’t seem to be anything or anyone there. Still, Krypto seemed certain.

Conner strained his eyes to scan the horizon and sure enough, it turned out that Krypto was right. Off in the distance a figure raced towards him at supersonic speeds.

Bart.

Yeah, Conner was so screwed.

As Bart drew closer Conner could tell that he was pissed. In fact, Bart didn’t even stop when he got to the farm. He just kept running, straight into Conner, before he had the idea to move. Bart tackled him to the ground at breakneck speeds, though he was at least careful of Ma’s flower garden.

“Oof,” Conner groaned as he made contact with the cold, hard ground. He totally deserved that, though.  Bart was on top of him with a fistful of his shirt.

“That’s for being a complete asshole!” he shouted. Surprisingly, it was at normal speed. The rest would not be, Conner predicted.

“I know,” Conner said, knowing that he was defeated. The tackle had knocked the wind out of him and had actually hurt, to be honest. Though he supposed that was the entire point. And he knew what was coming.

“What is _wrong_ with you—do you have any idea how freaked out Tim is right now? He’s _freaking out,_ Conner. Like more than usual! He called me practically hysterical—well, hysterical for him I could totally tell—and he told me what happened. I inferred that _you’re a total jerk._ What the actual hell is your problem?! As if he needs any more shit in his life to worry about, you go completely AWOL without saying anything? _What is wrong with you_?!”

“A lot of things,” Conner said, holding his hands up in surrender. Bart got off of him and helped him up, though he still looked just as angry as before. Ma and Krypto were on the porch, watching quietly. Ma gave Conner a small nod and went inside, bidding Krypto to follow her so that Bart and Conner could have it out, alone.

“So what happened?” Bart asked, his armed crossed. His wild auburn hair was being tossed about wildly by the wind and it actually made him look a lot more imposing than usual.

“Well… _I_ freaked out,” Conner started. Bart’s eyes narrowed and for a second Conner thought he was about to receive a high-speed punch to the face for an incomplete answer.

“Not good enough! Start from the beginning.”

“You see, I’m actually a clone of—”

“Don’t pull that crap on me, man. Tell me what’s going on.” By now Bart could see through Conner’s bullshit almost as well as Tim could. So Conner knew that trying to pass this off as nothing or trying to diffuse the situation with a bit of humor would get him nowhere. But hell, he might as well tell someone what was going on and who better than Bart?

“Come on, Bart, you’ve seen what Tim’s been like lately,” Conner started again seriously. He led the way back to the porch where they could at least sit down. “He always worries about us but he doesn’t seem to giving two shits about what happens to him out there. It’s like he’s turned into this weird crime-fighting, justice-seeking robot who no longer computes ‘pain’ or ‘human feelings.’ I mean, he lost his spleen! Those are important to humans! You’d think he’d at least take it easy after that, but…. I don’t know. I just wish he’d stop being so damn _fatal_.”

“I hear ya’. But he’s had it rough without us. It’s gonna’ take a while until he can shift gears again, you know. And you still haven’t told me exactly what happened _tonight_ ,” Bart said.

“We were on a mission. Basic infiltration, but he got slashed. Patched himself up back at the apartment. I sort of flipped my shit and flew off before I even knew what I was doing. He probably thought he triggered something but that’s not it. Not really, anyway. It’s not like I had a flashback to my own death or anything. More like a flash-forward of… his.” Conner choked on that last part. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to put the images out of his mind. “He’s probably one of the strongest people I know but at the end of the day he’s still human and humans are… so easy to kill. Bart, if you and I can go down like we did, then…. I can’t lose him. I don’t know if I’d stay sane.”

Bart looked at him silently for a moment. It was a little unsettling considering that Bart was _never_ quiet. Bart took a breath and Conner wondered if it was him preparing for a rapid-fire ejection of his thoughts out into the open, but Bart just let it out as a sigh. Then he looked at him again— _really_ looked at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Conner turned away, looking instead at the perennial flowers that Ma had carefully planted along the pathway many summers ago. Their delicate petals reflected the moonlight, making them seem ghostly and more fragile than usual. A single strong storm could destroy them entirely, yet here they had endured for years—including the one Conner hadn’t himself endured. Their roots must’ve stretched deep into the soil, making them stronger in a way that no one could really see. But come tomorrow and they could still be torn away, no matter how strong or resilient they were. Was all life just a matter of luck? Just avoiding one storm after another, practically blindfolded? No, that couldn’t be it. And Tim would probably scoff at the notion and say something like ‘ _Kon, we make our own luck.’_ And he’d be right of course. Though, it still didn’t seem wise to play dice with death. He’d lost his own game, and so had Bart. Hell, even Clark! But he wasn’t going to let Tim lose—Tim was too important. To the world, to him.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what Tim really means to me,” Conner admitted. He knew he ought to tell Bart—though a small part of him wondered if Bart didn’t already know. After all, the three of them spent ridiculous amounts of time together and while Bart had been totally and completely oblivious in the past, much like Conner he’d also changed after his own “rebirth.” He was more mature, more observant. He had even taken up the Flash’s mantle for a while so it was safe to assume he’d done more growing than a few inches to his height.

“And?” Bart prompted him when he didn’t continue.

“And I _really_ care about him. A lot more than I’ve ever cared about anyone else before. I need to make sure he knows that. But if I do it all wrong, then….” He didn’t know what to say, so he just sort of made an explosion-y motion with his hands.

“Right,” Bart said understandingly. “Alright, alright, I got it. And I know what you’re afraid of.”

“So you see why it’s really complicated?”

“Not really,” Bart said with a shrug. Conner gave him an exasperated look but Bart went on, “Considering all that facts, the chances of him _not_ reciprocating your feelings are pretty slim. Like I’d rather stake my life on whether I not I win the lottery on my first try—and I’d tell you the mathematics behind that, but I think you get the point.”

“What?” Conner asked simply.

“The lottery, or…?”

“No! Not the lottery—what ‘ _facts_?’”

“You’re really bad with these things, aren’t you? Well, I guess means both of you are perfect for each other—I just didn’t think I’d be the one playing matchmaker or whatever this is.” Conner wondered for a moment what that was supposed to mean, but then remembered that there were other matters at hand that should be sorted out first.

“Bart!”

“Yeah, yeah, facts, I got it,” Bart said. He held up one finger and continued, “First, let’s analyze the solid piece of evidence that is his attempt at _resurrecting_ you via _cloning_. Tim’s smart. He’s probably smarter than ninety-nine percent of the entire population. But cloning? That’s a stupid thing to do because everyone knows that even if it worked, the clone would _so_ _not_ be the same as the original. It screams of desperation, and since that topic is starting to make me uncomfortable, I’m just going to move on now to fact number two.”

“Bart…—”

“Hey, you asked for the facts, I’m giving them to you—no interrupting!” He held up a second finger to illustrate his point. “Tim’s got fewer secrets from you than he does his own family. He tells you basically everything and we could chalk that up to best friend privilege since he tells me a bunch of stuff too, but he doesn’t open up to me the same way he opens up to you, Kon. You’re like his walking diary.”

Maybe that was a little true, at least. Conner suddenly felt a little guilty that Bart was getting slowly nudged off their three-man island, so to speak. If things went the way Conner wanted them to go, then wouldn’t Bart end up feeling like a third wheel? He didn’t want that. Bart was his best friend too and even if by some miracle, by some work of the divine, he and Tim finally figured out what they were…. Well he wasn’t sure how Bart would end up feeling about it. After a moment, Conner refocused on what Bart was saying but made up his mind to ask how he really felt about all this.

“Let’s not forget all the hugging. There’s been a lot of that. Like, way more than that’s probably strictly platonic.” Conner conceded that point, too. There had been a lot of hugging between him and Tim lately. Getting to hold Tim like that outside of tragic events, even if it was for a few seconds, was something special. He’d told himself that it was probably just a matter of circumstance; superheroes had very deep connections with other superheroes, but it didn’t necessarily mean that romantic feelings were involved. And there were those times that Tim would hug him unexpectedly. He’d hold on like he was afraid that Conner was going to dissipate with the wind or something and it sort of freaked Conner out because he _knew_ what Tim was afraid of. Even though they’d settled back into the way things had been before—with all the joking around, the teasing, and just being generally comfortable with each other—he still caught the way Tim would look at him sometimes. Like he was making sure it wasn’t all in his head. Was that a normal thing too? Well, it wasn’t every day your best friend pops up out of nowhere after being gone for so long.

“I guess,” Conner said slowly, realizing that Bart was waiting for him to respond.

“Dude, he practically went crazy. I mean, they all did—Cassie joined a _cult_ for crying out loud—but still. You get my point right?”

“Bart…,” Conner started slowly. It was all convincing, yeah, but there was still a part of him that was certain that the only thing that could come out of a confession was heartbreak.

“This is totally ridiculous—you’re _so in denial_ that’s its driving me up a wall, man.” To be honest, living in this land of in-between was driving Conner up a wall too. He wanted to come clean. He wanted to cut all the strings holding him back, but he didn’t know if he should. What if they were only there for his protection? What if by cutting those strings he didn’t free himself, but instead ended up face-planting on the cold, hard asphalt of life?

“There’s just no way of telling for sure, Bart. He’s so good at hiding everything that there’s no way to be completely sure. And I don’t want to take the jump unless I’m certain.”

“No one’s ever a hundred percent certain about anything, dude. You know that, I know that. And sometimes, when it’s something this important—this life-changing—no matter how terrifying it is… sometimes we gotta’ take a leap of faith,” Bart said. Where this wisdom had been tucked away was a mystery, but it was nice to hear it. “There’s no denying that he loves you, at least in some way. Even if it’s not in the way you want, he still loves you and no matter what happens, he’s not just going to cut you out of his life. He’s not that type of guy.”

Conner buried his face in his hands, not sure how to respond in a way that wouldn’t get him pummeled at high-speed. “So you’re saying I should just go for it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. From where the rest of us are standing, you two are practically married anyway, so it’s really just a matter of time.”

“Wait, what? Does everyone know?” Conner asked. He’d wondered if all the weirdness between him and Tim tipped off any of their teammates yet. He’d been playing it as cool as he could but maybe it was one of those things where all but the involved party already got the picture.

“Uh, duh. Some of us stand to make some good money, too. Better tell Tim before the month ends or I’ll owe Cassie twenty bucks that I don’t have.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” The thought of the other Titans placing bets and profiting off of Conner’s misery made him feel weird. It was hilarious, yeah, but also weird that everyone was in on it. Even worse was that Cassie—his ex-girlfriend—was in on it. Bart just shrugged in response, which offered no respite.

“You’d better get back to Metropolis soon—before Tim goes critical.”

“How the hell am I supposed to face him?” He probably should have thought of that before his sudden vanishing act, but he hadn’t really been thinking at all.

“Fly slow—you can think of a half-decent lie on the way.”

“Gee thanks, Bart,” Conner said flatly. “I can’t lie to Tim. He lies to _Batman_. Like, on a regular basis. He’ll see right through me.”

“You don’t actually have to convince him, genius. He’ll get the message.” Bart was right. The three of them didn’t really lie to each other, except obviously, which always meant something along the lines of _“I’ll tell you eventually but not right now.”_ Maybe it would just be better if they said that to begin with, but it was already a habit of theirs. Useful when there were other people around, but not as useful when there was already a failure in communication.

“Fine, I should probably go,” Conner said, looking up towards the sky. A few clouds had settled near the moon, but its light still shone brightly.

“And remember: if he kills you for bailing, it’s your fault.”

“Thanks for the support.” Conner resisted rolling his eyes. Then, he remembered: “Hey, are you sure you’re okay with me-and-Tim? You know, as a couple—or whatever?”

“You’re seriously worried about what _I_ think? Don’t worry man, I know you’re not going to kick me to the curb. I’d just kick ya’ right back,” Bart assured him with a swift punch to the arm and a grin. “I just can’t wait for you two to stop beating around the bush—I swear to god I’m like _this_ close to taking a chainsaw to it in the form of at least four different signs and a large banner.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Conner said honestly. Bart stood up and Conner did the same, letting out a dramatic sigh upon realizing just how screwed he was. But both Bart and Ma were right. Not only did he owe Tim an explanation for his disappearing act, but he also owed him the truth. (Even if Tim himself was… careful… with the truth.) Bart must’ve seen the apprehension written all over his face because he threw his arms around him and squeezed tightly.

“You looked like you needed a hug,” he said to explain.

“Thanks.” He’d be sure to do something nice for Bart later for all this support.

“Good luck! You’ll need it,” he said right before speeding away.

“Right,” Conner agreed to empty air. He stood there letting the chilly autumn air blow around him for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a breath, hoping it would somehow help, but either it didn’t always work like that or he was doing it wrong.

The door swung open again and Ma peeked her head out while Krypto squeezed past her. He bounded over to Conner who gave him a pat. “Heading out?” Ma asked.

“Yeah. I can’t keep him waiting,” he said. Ma simply smiled sympathetically and Conner wondered if he should ask her to make an emergency pie. But Tim was really difficult to butter up and in fact, any such attempt would backfire horribly. Better just to play it straight.

No pun attended.

And on that note he figured that he was probably overthinking this. Or maybe he should give _that_ line of thinking a little more attention one of these days.

“See you soon then, sweetheart,” Ma bid him with a small wave as Krypto barked his farewell. Conner nodded and took to the skies, heading back towards Metropolis.

 

Conner wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say to Tim. How did everyone else bullshit their way out of things like this? Just the thought of facing Tim was enough to make him waver in his flight path. He would be _livid_ and there wasn’t anything scarier than an angry Tim. Conner would rather throw himself into a pool of pure liquid kryptonite because it would be at least twelve times less painful.

God, he was such an idiot. He should have been able to control his emotions and his senses—Clark was always telling him about that; how important it was to be in control because, let’s be honest, they could cause immense destruction just by sneezing too hard. But everything had just hit him so fast and at all once, like the first moments after he broke out of Cadmus… that he just couldn’t just keep it in check. It was almost like a law of the universe: if something is really important, you’re definitely going to screw it up. So it made sense that the most important things would be fucked up royally, just like this.

The more he thought about it, the more he freaked himself out. The last thing he wanted was for Tim to be angry with him, but Conner knew he deserved it. He’d been a jerk and he deserved more than a few harsh words. At the same time, he was still upset at Tim for being so reckless. And to top it all off, his feelings for Tim made this whole thing more confusing than it already was. Maybe he really should have flown slower like Bart had suggested. Too soon was he within Metropolis city limits, being welcomed by the soft green glow of the WayneTech tower. He was like a moth to a flame, floating towards it without really realizing it until he touched down on the terrace.

All the lights were out in the apartment and it made Conner very nervous. He tried not to run through fifty different scenarios in his head because one: he couldn’t really pull it off well, and two: he just didn’t know how Tim and the other Bats managed that and stayed calm at the same time. It only freaked him out more, if that was possible. Gathering himself, he wrapped his hand around the cold handle of the glass door and experimentally pulled, wondering if it was locked. It wasn’t, meaning Tim had left it unlocked in hopes that he’d return.

Conner went inside and looked first towards the kitchen. The moonlight reflected off the metal appliances and fixtures as well as the marble countertop. Tim had put away the first aid kit and its contents along with his costume. Everything was spic and span. Then he looked over towards the living area and his heart was beset by a whole new wave of guilt. Tim lay curled up in the couch and as Conner drew near he could see the troubled look on his sleeping face. Oh god, Tim must’ve been waiting for him to come back and had fallen asleep in that uncomfortable-looking position.

Conner scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed quietly. What was so wrong with him that he kept hurting the people he cared about? And why, oh god why, in particular did he keep hurting Tim? He should have said something before, should have at least called, should have done _something_ but no—he’d been such a coward. Tim deserved better than this—better than a terrible friend who flew out without so much as a half-assed excuse and didn’t even call to explain thereafter. Conner thought he’d gotten over his phase of self-loathing, but he definitely hated himself right now.

Tim must’ve heard him sigh or simply detected his presence with his freaky Bat-senses and jerked awake. Conner jerked backwards a little in response and Tim stood up faster than he probably should have. It was impressive that he didn’t get lightheaded, or maybe he did and he just hid it. “Kon!” he cried, his eyes wide, as he grabbed Conner’s arms. “You’re back!”

“I…,” Conner started and failed miserably. He had been expecting Tim to be angry with him, even a little, but he just seemed like he was relieved Conner was back. Or maybe Conner was _hoping_ that Tim would be angry with him because he was so angry with himself.

“I’m _so_ sorry—whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” No, no, no this was all wrong. _He_ wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Not about this, no, no, no. Conner looked at Tim and whatever he’d been trying to say died in his throat. There it was again. That look in Tim’s eyes that was nothing less than pure concern and empathy. The one that made Conner want to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness because he just wasn’t worthy of that much compassion. “Conner, please say something. Anything.”

The way Tim’s voice cracked a little at the end just broke Conner’s heart in a hundred different ways and he wanted to hold his best friend close and never let him go while spilling out his entire soul. He’d been expecting Tim’s anger to help him out somehow and without it, this was so much harder than he’d ever imagined. Where was he supposed to start? What was he going to say? What _could_ he say?

“I’m… fine,” he choked out after a long while. It was so pathetic that a part of him laughed darkly at the other. But managing those two words helped the others to flow a little easier. “It wasn’t anything you did, really,” he tried to explain. “It’s not your fault.”

“Then what happened? I thought I might’ve triggered something,” Tim said, still holding on firmly to Conner’s arms as if to stop him from flying away again.

Conner just sort of shrugged in response and said, “No, don’t worry. It’s not that, I promise. I’m just a jerk,” for lack of anything better to say. He couldn’t tell Tim the real story—how he’d freaked out over the prospect of losing him—because Tim was already quite visibly rattled which meant quite a lot given how good the guy was at hiding such feelings.

“Kon…,” he started, letting his hands fall away. He crossed them in front of his chest and brought his shoulders up a little as if he was cold, and maybe he actually was given how chilly it was outside. It wasn’t much warmer in here.

“Listen,” Conner started softly. He knew he couldn’t lie to Tim and honestly he didn’t want to, so he settled for a watered-down version of the truth instead. “I just really overreacted. I sort of got lost in my thoughts and freaked myself out big time. And before I knew it I was halfway to Smallville.”

“Why didn’t you call? You left your communicator here, but you could have called once you got to Smallville,” Tim said, looking away. There was no angry or accusatory tone to his voice. He just seemed confused and…. There was something else there—another type of strain to his voice that was wholly unfamiliar.

“Like I said: I’m a jerk. The biggest one to have ever lived, I know.” Tim looked at him again and now his eyes were searching for something: the truth behind Conner’s pseudo-response. And then something inside of him must’ve shifted a little because his eyebrows furrowed together and a chill went up Conner’s spine because he swore Tim’s eyes just got _more intense_.

“What aren’t you telling me?” It was the same question Bart had asked but in a completely different way. It made Conner swallow hard, not quite scared but…. It was the voice Tim used when he wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit. Still not angry, but it made you very aware that you shouldn’t try to lie your way out unless you were prepared for the consequences. He was demanding the truth but Conner just couldn’t bring himself to deliver.

“It’s complicated,” he tried. He continued on even when Tim narrowed his eyes a little and Conner _swore_ that if Tim had heat vision that he’d be little more than a puddle on the floor by now. “I promise I’ll explain everything later, okay? But it’s been a long day and we _really_ should get to bed.”

Tim was silent for a long time. So silent—and so still—that he seemed almost like a statue; ghostly in the darkness. But he eventually nodded, meeting Conner’s eyes for a moment before walking past him and saying “Fine.”

That didn’t bode well for Conner. Whenever Tim said “fine” it actually meant something along the lines of “you fucked up prepare to die.” But Tim didn’t actually seem to be mad, at least right now, so Conner wasn’t sure what it meant this time around. Unless he was overthinking this too, and Tim was actually okay with him postponing an obviously important discussion they ought to have right now. Tim was understanding of a lot of things, especially when it came to all the weird things about Conner—clone, half-alien, half-Luthor, yada yada—so maybe this was just that.

“See you in the morning,” Tim said before disappearing down the hallway and leaving Conner standing dumbly in the middle of the living room, incredulous of his own stupidity.

“Yeah,” he whispered to no one in particular and figured fuck it—he might as well try to sleep too. They still had the case to mull over in the morning and when exactly he’d forgotten all about that was a mystery. Priorities.

By the time he floated into his borrowed room his brain had shut itself off, not wanting to deal with any more onslaughts of thoughts or feelings. He slipped out of his shoes, pants, and shirt before flopping down on the soft mattress, hoping that maybe things would make sense in the morning. Or that by some miracle everything would just magically be okay.

Though try as he may, sleep just wouldn’t come to him. Regardless of how tired his brain was and how worn out he felt physically, he was still just too frustrated. He must’ve changed positions a hundred times before finding a comfortable spot, despite the entire bed being much comfier and cozier than his own back in Smallville. He wondered idly what expensive stuff the mattress, pillows, and sheets must’ve been made out of, if only to try and distract himself for a moment. Though apparently it worked because he eventually drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 

Conner knew he was fucked when he woke up to the smell of blueberry pancakes.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he definitely knew. Sometimes pancakes were pancakes, and sometimes they were not. This had to be one of those times.

He got ready quickly, not staying in the shower longer than he had to, though he wanted to, and floated back into the living area of the penthouse. It was a bright day outside and for some reason, it made him feel uneasy. Tim was sitting at the kitchen counter, typing away on his laptop with a focused look on his face. A plate of pancakes sat next to him and Conner wondered how he had gotten ready without Conner even hearing anything. Either the walls were thick or it was another freaky Bat-thing.

“Good morning,” Tim said to him as if nothing weird at all had happened between them last night. He shut his laptop and pushed it away with a warm smile that made it all the way to Conner’s heart. Conner stowed his crap and smiled back. As weird as last night had been, at the end of it all Tim was still—and would always be—his best friend. And waking up to him was always great. Even if he was in for a lecture or something worse later on, right now there was homemade food.

“Morning. Didn’t know you knew how to make blueberry pancakes,” he said floating over to a stool.

“What’s to know? It’s not roast duck.”

“Do you know how to make that, too?” Conner asked helped himself to several pancakes while Tim got out the syrup and butter.

“Not in any way that wouldn’t make Alfred faint,” Tim said pulling a few pancakes onto his own plate. Apparently Conner wasn’t as good at multitasking as he thought he was because while he was memorizing the little smile on Tim’s face, some of his pancakes fell off his fork and back into his plate. Tim looked up at him from under those long eyelashes for a second before apparently deciding it wasn’t worth his time to question, and attended to his own pancakes.

Was it just Conner’s imagination (obviously trying to kill him) or was Tim particularly gorgeous today? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He was just busy trying not to _gawk_ at Tim while wondering when exactly along the timeline of their friendship things took this peculiar turn. He’d admit it: he always thought Tim was pretty cute, even back in their Young Justice days. Maybe it was the whole grown-in-a-tube thing but he never really distinguished between male and females in terms of attractiveness the same way other people did. To many of them you could safely appreciate someone of the same gender but there was some sort of fine line and if you crossed that line then it meant something. To Conner that line just didn’t exist, nor did he really see a reason for it to exist at all. He also understood that sexuality (human and non-human alike) was this complicated fluid-y spectrum of a thing. So when he first figured that this kid in red and green tights was pretty hot, even if a mask covered half his face, that it wasn’t such a big deal. He’d found Tana, Cassie, and dozens of other girls totally hot. And just because Tim was a guy didn’t take away from the fact that he somehow managed to make puberty his bitch, especially during the time Conner was gone. It had been quite a surprise coming home to a new Tim, in more ways than one.

All that was well and good. Thinking your friend was stunning probably wasn’t that out of the ordinary, even for people who claimed to be one hundred percent straight. But what _was_ out of ordinary—well, in all relativity if he was going to compare himself to the average Joe—was that Conner had grown out of the phase of simple appreciation to the point of actual _desire_. Not just dreams—no, when he first started having those, he’d done some thorough research (Tim would be proud, he was sure) and found out that it wasn’t really _that_ abnormal to dream about getting it on with someone you were really close to. The dreams had started even back when he was still with Cassie. After they decided to part ways everything got a hundred times worse, like a flood gate breaking open.

Even that wasn’t _so_ bad. He knew it was atypical, sure, but he didn’t really mind it that much for some reason. What was _really_ a game-changer was that he’d actually fallen in love with Tim. Like he’d have these daydreams where they were together and happy and doing all sort of stupid couple-y things together, and that would be around the time where his brain would fizzle out and his heart would drop and he’d end up feeling like shit. And there were those moments where he wanted nothing more than to just _hold_ Tim and be able to pretend for even a second—to get lost in that second for eternity and then some—that they’d get their happily ever after.

He thought he knew pain. There was the pain of kryptonite, which would radiate throughout his entire body like poison in his veins. There was the pain of getting beat to death by Asshole-Prime, which he could barely remember because it had been so dulled by anger. Then there was the pain of unrequited love, which was all-consuming and absolutely soul-crushing. There were days where he wondered how much longer he could keep it all up. After a while he’d given up, really, and just shut everything away and pretended it was just a phase.

But now _last night_ had happened and here he was sitting across from Tim in his incredible penthouse eating his delicious blueberry pancakes and ogling at how beautiful some humans were, and _this one_ in particular.

Ah fuck, he was in so deep.

Though all things considered, Conner could at least pat himself on the back for being a fast learner. He’d finally just picked up on how to stare without staring, all while eating his pancakes like a normal person. He couldn’t risk being caught because Tim would point out that he was spacing out, and how was he supposed to explain that he actually wasn’t? That he was just staring because, dear god, that gray sweater made Tim’s eyes glisten like diamonds that people fought wars over?

When Conner finally gathered himself again he reminded the less helpful parts of his brain that gawking at Tim would not help matters because he was still seriously screwed. He wanted to bang his head against the countertop but that would make Tim curious. A curious Tim was the last thing he needed right now, considering how jumbled-up his thoughts were. He remembered what Bart had said. The prospect of having Tim return his feelings was so incredible that he could hardly get his head around it. Bart had said that it was more than likely, and he’d driven the point home, too. But there was just so much to lose….

Ugh, this was turning out to be like something out of a sappy romance movie. He wished that there was something else to distract him, but even when he silently scanned the city using his super hearing, he came up with little more than a few car sirens set off due to stray baseballs or something. But then it seemed that either Tim developed selective telepathy or the universe was taking pity on him, because their case worked its way back into the picture.

“So I think I figured out what was in that drug that shouldn’t have been,” Tim said after finishing a bite.

“Yeah?” Conner prompted after Tim didn’t continue. He realized that Tim had been making sure he was listening. Meaning he’d noticed that Conner’s head was elsewhere.

“Well, there are three things, really. First there’s a substance that’s similar to a steroid, which is causing the aggression. Then there’s something resembling LSD which is basically causing hallucinations,” Tim explained. He sounded normal but at the same time, Conner saw his eyes searching for something. Conner only recognized it because he’d seen it plenty of times before. “They can’t distinguish between their visions and reality. Even their loved ones must seem like monsters, enemies, whatever. Hence why they attack. To them, it’s just self-defense.”

“A hallucinogen in anti-depression medication?” Conner asked, trying very hard to ignore the way Tim was trying to read him. _Think about the case—it’s way more important,_ he told himself.

“Yeah, there’s no way this would have made it past the FDA. In fact, if they left even one of these on the fake list, there probably would have been an investigation,” Tim said. He turned back to his plate, having either given up trying to find the truth etched all over Conner’s face (which Conner figured wouldn’t really be that hard given how terrible he was at hiding things) or—more likely—having found what he was searching for.

“I can’t believe they pulled it off. But wait, what’s the third thing?” _Think about the case_.

“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never really seen anything like it before, but it almost looks like a marker of some sort.”

“A marker? For what?”

“Hard to say, but it looks like a molecular genetic marker. A normal genetic marker is basically the gene itself—a very specific one that’s easy to observe—but a molecular one detects variations in the gene,” Tim explained.

“What’s that doing in an anti-depressant?”

“No idea. Besides, what are the other two doing in it? My theory is that they both have something to do with this marker. There’s a reason that most people haven’t reported so much as high blood pressure while on this drug, yet those victims suffered horrible and disturbingly similar deaths.”

“So this marker is tagging a certain gene so it’ll do what? Set off a chain reaction that ultimately results in these poor people _dying_?”

“That’s what it looks like. Now we have to figure out what exactly that marker is tagging and that might help us figure out the reason for all this,” Tim said, picking up both their plates and taking them to the sink.

“What could be the reason behind killing a small group of unrelated and perfectly innocent people?” It was a rhetorical question that they asked themselves way too frequently. What reason did anyone ever have for taking someone else’s life? And the ever-present moral dilemma: was any reason good enough? It was a gray area, for sure, but this case seemed much more black and white. Some sicko had made this drug with the intent to harm innocent people—based on nothing more than their genetics, it seemed.

This whole case was hitting just too damn close to home, and Conner was getting more and more uneasy with each piece of the puzzle that they found.

Conner let out a sigh and stood up just as his phone began buzzing. He knew who it was before he looked at the screen. “Hey Lois,” he answered. “You’re on speaker—say hi to Tim.”

“Well hi there, Boy Wonder,” Lois said through the phone, prompting a deep frown from Tim and a subsequent wide grin from Conner.

“Hi Lois,” Tim said flatly, not hiding his distaste for the nickname that he just couldn’t seem to shake. Conner figured that it didn’t matter what Tim called himself now, or would ever call himself in the future. A hundred years from now, he’d still be Boy Wonder. A thousand years from now the Legion would still refer to him officially as Boy Wonder. “Got any news?”

“Plenty,” Lois said. Her voice sounded weary and it made Conner’s stomach sink a little even before she said, “None of it good.”

“About the case?” Conner asked nervously, even though the answer was more than obvious.

“Yeah. I had that friend of mine send out feelers so that he’d get notified when anyone who was on Alpramine ended up dead. He just got a hit. Someone in Coast City—who’s totally unrelated to any of the previous victims in basically every way possible—just died. Maxwell Davis, sixty years old as of last Sunday. Long since divorced and the kids moved out ages ago. Police got a call from the neighbors who reported loud noises. When they got there, the house looked like a tornado ripped through it and Mr. Davis was found dead in his living room. He had a history of throwing things around when he got upset—thankfully no one was ever hurt—but the police figured that he must’ve had a fit. Threw around and bunch of stuff in his anger and then his heart clocked out because of it. Not that unbelievable, given his age,” Lois explained. They could hear her shuffling around papers wildly.

“At least there wasn’t collateral this time,” Conner said. It was a small consolation.

“I wonder if other people have begun to notice that Alpramine is a common factor in all of these,” Lois said.

“It’s possible. But just because the only common factor in a series of murders is Aspirin doesn’t mean you start looking at the drug, given how widely and how regularly it’s administered. Then again, Alpramine is a prescription drug so its use is way more limited. The police have probably already come across the coincidence, but given the nature of the crime scenes, it’s likely that they’re thinking along the lines of what we first thought: that there’s a killer responsible. They’ll eventually put two and two together and Jupiter Inc. will come under fire, but that could take ages,” Tim said, leaning against the counter. “Meanwhile, dozens of people will fall victim to whoever is behind this.”

“I guess that’s true enough. Did you two find anything helpful?” Lois asked.

“Yeah. Some shady ingredients that were left off the official list. We need to figure out how it all works, not to mention _why_ ,” Tim explained.

“Alright. I know you’ll figure it out. And, uh, I still have some bad news left. Jacqueline Farrows passed away earlier this morning. Her injuries were just too extensive.” Conner closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Damn it. He knew he couldn’t blame himself, but it didn’t make it any better. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Conner said after a moment. “We’ll get her and the others the justice they deserve.”

“I have no doubt about that. Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to work,” she said before hanging up. Conner sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Tim placed his hand on Conner’s shoulder and it did in fact help to console him.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“We need to figure out the mystery behind this genetic marker,” Tim said. “Let’s see if our new lab tech friend can help us out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate the long-awaited end of my hellish finals, here's the next chapter, now featuring 100% more insightful!Bart.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading, commenting, subscribing, bookmarking, leaving kudos, etc etc! It really means a lot to know that people are enjoying this! :D


	5. A Mystery Unveiled

Conner had spent the entire period of time that it had taken Tim to locate the lab tech’s house trying to (subtly) talk him out of going to see the guy. Tim had mostly ignored him so maybe the effort had been wasted, but the important part was that he tried—right?

“You know where 25th and Westmore is?” Tim asked once they were on the terrace. He was checking his dozens of hidden clasps, catches, pockets, and whatnot. He’d stitched up his suit, too, since it had torn during the skirmish last night.

“Yeah,” Conner replied tersely. They’d practically implanted a map of Metropolis into his brain when they made him. He didn’t know the streets as well as Clark did, but he was close.

“Sounds like you have something on your mind, Kon,” Tim said. How in the world did these Bats have the ability to get so much information out of a single word? Conner had tried his best to not make his efforts too obvious, but he wasn’t sure if he’d been at all successful.

“I just don’t like the idea of involving this kid. Wouldn’t we be putting him in danger?”

“Unlikely, but yes, it’s possible,” Tim said, looking at him. He hadn’t pulled his cowl on yet, so his expression was as clear as day. He was asking, _but that’s not what you’re really worried about, is it?_ And as usual, he’d be right. Maybe that’s the only thing Conner should have been worried about, but the fact of the matter remained that it wasn’t. He knew he was being awfully selfish lately, but maybe sometimes it was okay to put yourself first, so as long as you didn’t forget about everyone else who depended on you.

At least, that’s what Ma always said.

“Let’s go,” Tim said once he was ready, pulling on his cowl.

“Are you _ever_ going to get rid of that thing?” Conner asked for about the millionth time.

“Soon, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, fine, _soon_ ,” Tim replied. “Satisfied?”

About the cowl thing, yeah—it wasn’t that big of a deal anyway. About everything else…? Well, Conner was unsure about a lot of things in his life right now, so the word “satisfied” wouldn’t be one he could use to describe how he felt while still being honest with himself. But for Tim’s sake, he could pretend.

“Mhm,” he hummed before deciding that they’d stood around long enough. While Tim was double-checking one of his new gadgets, Conner took advantage of the distraction to pick him up.

“Wha—” Tim cried in surprise. He didn’t go totally rigid or anything but he’d been surprised so he did tense up a little.

“Unless you developed magical healing powers overnight, your arm is still busted.” Conner said in order to explain himself. Tim’s comfort was really only half the reason though it probably should have been the only reason. Again—he was being awfully selfish.

“You make it sound like my limbs are made of paper,” Tim muttered, crossing him arms. Conner half expected Tim to curl up on himself like a pill bug, but he didn’t.

“Can’t blame me for worrying,” he said, lifting off.

“I suppose I can’t. Either way, it’s too late now,” Tim muttered, peering down at the busy streets below. It was almost noon so the lunch rush had started. Very few people would be looking up and even if they did it wouldn’t be anything spectacular to see. Superheroes dashing across the sky was a common site nowadays. The only reason people really looked up is if they were bored or if there was a giant alien spaceship falling from the sky without warning.

“Just enjoy the view,” Conner recommended. Tim laughed a little, apparently in a good mood for the time being, and it resonated in Conner’s chest.

“It _is_ something, isn’t it? Seeing it from this height? You must be used to it, though.” Tim relaxed as he said that, resting his head against Conner’s shoulder like he had the other night. And there it was; the other half of the reason he’d wanted to carry Tim like this.

“There are some things you don’t get used to.” Oh, that came out a little more seriously than he’d intended. “In a good way, I mean. Like the sight of flying over the ocean towards the setting sun. That’s always awesome.”

“That sounds incredible,” Tim said softly, like he was imagining what it might be like. Conner had to suppress the cheesy fantasies that sprung up in his head about him, Tim, and oceans during sunsets. Maybe he’d seen one too many romantic movies with Cassie. She’d never admit it aloud, but she had a serious soft spot for them. And maybe he did too, considering how his mind kept coming up with the sappiest stuff imaginable. Ugh, he so needed that Monster Movie Marathon with Bart and Gar that was coming up.

Conner had spared just enough brainpower to remember where he was supposed to be flying. Aaron Winter’s apartment was situated a ways off MetU, in a more affordable part of the area that hadn’t already been snatched up by students who didn’t want to stay on-campus. It was a lively area filled with shops, restaurants, cafes, and so on, all thriving on the patronage from students and faculty from the university. It wasn’t as congested as Metro Square but it was still plenty busy. Conner couldn’t decide if he liked the hustle and bustle of the city or if he’d finally gotten used to the peace and quiet that a place like Smallville offered.

“It’s the red brick building,” Tim pointed out. Conner was glad that it was pretty tall so there wasn’t a line of sight from the street. No one would see them land—at least no one from street level. Once he landed, he set Tim down.

“Thanks,” Tim said flatly while adjusting his cape a little.

“You’re welcome,” Conner said in response. He resisted the urge to make some sort of joke, though in the past he probably wouldn’t have missed a beat.

“Come on,” Tim said while heading towards the roof access door. It wasn’t one of those alarmed emergency-types that were becoming more and more commonplace. Good for building security, but not so good for superheroes that needed easy entry. Not everyone had handy bat-gadgets that easily disabled them. Well, Conner wasn’t sure if Tim actually had one of those, but it’d be more surprising if he didn’t.

Tim continued to lead the way once they were inside, apparently knowing exactly where to go. Conner had to admit that he missed this: missed having Tim in the lead. Not that Cassie wasn’t a good leader—no, she was great—it was just that after so many years of being bossed around by Tim, Conner had begun to _depend_ on it in a way. It was just nice knowing that there was someone who was always in control of the situation, even if you weren’t. Most of the time things never went according to plan, but Tim would even plan for _that_ in a hundred different ways, so there was no real reason to panic. But not everyone was such a masterful tactician so Conner knew it wasn’t fair to compare Tim and Cassie’s skills. He hadn’t ever intended to, and neither did anyone else, but it would be a lie to say that everyone didn’t seriously miss Tim. If not for his abilities, then at least for his presence. It was weirdly calming, at least for Conner.

So feeling an odd mix of contentment and comfort, he silently followed Tim down the brightly-lit hallway. He’d follow Tim to the edge of the universe—to Hell and back, even—if Tim would ask. Of course, right now, Hell consisted of the Lab Tech’s apartment that they’d reached. Conner suddenly realized how much he didn’t want to be there and after that, felt like a total idiot. They were here because they needed help saving lives, something of extreme importance, and there Conner was, feeling all jealous like a stupid teenager with a giant crush.

Oh wait.

 _Get your shit together, man—this is pathetic,_ he told himself as Tim rang the doorbell. They heard something being knocked over inside, then a series of similar noises, followed by some aggravated cursing and footsteps drawing closer. Just as the door swung open, Conner reminded himself for the hundredth time that he needed to stop acting like such a self-absorbed jerk.

Aaron Winters didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stood there, with the door half open and a surprised look on his face. “Are you busy?” Tim asked, breaking the awkward silence at last.

“Not at all! I-I’m just surprised! Please come in,” Winters said quickly. He combed a hand through his hair, possibly to straighten it out a little, but it didn’t make much of a difference. He had the same type of unruly hair that Bart did. He opened the door wider to let Tim—er, Red Robin—inside, and only then seemed to take note of Conner standing there. “Oh, Superboy! You’re here too.”

Conner _swore_ that the guy sounded disappointed. He wondered if Tim had noticed that (probably—no, undoubtedly) and how to respond without sounding like an asshole. “Yeah. Need your help on a case,” was what he settled for, using his Superboy voice. That way, he couldn’t embarrass himself.

“Well, I’ll do anything and everything I can…,” Winters said, closing the door behind them. He wrung his hands nervously as he walked over to the desk by the window. A fake flower plant lay on the faded carpet, along with a novelty pencil holder in the shape of an old-school computer monitor. Its contents were also all over the floor.

“Did your cat knock them over?” Tim asked. What cat? Conner looked around the little apartment. It was a small yet clean place with fairly tasteful, minimalistic furniture. It was sparsely decorated with a few paintings and photos on the wall in no particular pattern. A few boxes sat in the corner meaning that either Winters was about as good as everyone else when it came to unpacking, or that he was actually deciding to leave the city like he said he might. There was a litter box with a scratching post next to it in a corner of the room, meaning that there was actually a cat present. The feline in question was sitting on the kitchen counter, which was the only thing separating the kitchen from the living space. The cat had black fur and curious green eyes that seemed to be observing Conner very carefully. After a few moments, it leapt off the counter and onto to the windowsill, apparently having decided that street traffic was more interesting than these strangely-dressed people in its home.

“Yeah,” Winters answered, gathering the fallen objects and placing them back on the desk next to his laptop. There were a few messy stacks of paper on the desk, but little else. Conner had to give the guy props for keeping the place so clean, especially in the presence of a cat. “Her name is Violet.”

“Pretty,” Conner said, turning his attention away from the cat and back to him. Apart from his hair, Winters himself was just as neat-looking at his apartment. He wore jeans and a sweater not unlike the one Tim was wearing earlier, only his was light blue. He pushed back his glasses and cleared this throat, giving a shy smile.

“Nice place, I like it,” Tim said simply. Winters blushed, even though there was no way to know if a person was being honest when they used so few words. “Wait—did you take that photograph yourself?”

Conner almost got whiplash from the sudden change in Tim’s voice.

“Yeah, I did. It’s of the street below. I was just sitting on the roof looking down and figured that I’d get some long exposure practice in, and bam! It turned out pretty good so I figured I’d frame it. I have tons of Gotham tucked away in one of my boxes that I never got around to unpacking,” Winters explained, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing even harder.

“It’s beautiful,” Tim said appreciatively after admiring it for a moment. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the low-rising sofa, but the fond tone in his voice was unmistakable. Conner almost wanted to laugh. Tim was a total photography nerd; a leftover from his childhood when he used to sneak around taking pictures of everyone and everything and, most importantly, Batman and Robin. He said that he’d more-or-less left the practice behind after becoming Robin himself, but Conner knew it was a secret hobby of his. Not only did Tim like _knowing everything_ to the point where it was almost creepy, but he’d been raised to appreciate all that artsy stuff. Photography sort of landed right in the intersection of those two things. It was a perfect match.

“Thanks. I take it you like photography?” Winters asked, leaning against his desk.

“Yeah, it’s a hobby of mine,” Tim admitted. Winters smiled in response and Conner could almost see the questions swirling around in the guy’s head about what kind of person Tim must be under that cowl of his. It was the same sort of look Conner used to have during their Young Justice days, back before Tim had unmasked himself. Only on Winters it seemed cute, while on Conner it must’ve just looked stupid.

Conner wondered if he should say something or clear his throat politely to get back to the task at hand. Thankfully, Tim was never one to stray for too long. “So anyway,” he started, fishing out a flash drive from one of his pockets, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure, anything,” Winters said, even though he had no idea what Tim could possibly request. Then again, Conner was not in a position to judge considering how he almost never asked questions when Tim asked something of him. Not real questions, anyway.

“Remember Alpramine? We found the real list of ingredients in that side building. There was a little resistance, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Apparently there are a few very unusual things in this drug. First up is a steroid that’s probably the cause of aggression. Then a hallucinogen which is causing, well, hallucinations. Put those two together and you have the cause of all the violence at our crime scenes, followed by a heart attack. And then there’s a mystery ingredient: a molecular marker whose exact purpose I can’t figure out,” Tim explained as briefly as he could.

“Oh my God,” Winters said, flabbergasted. “I had no idea all this was happening. Well I’ll definitely be quitting. I would’ve done it today, but I didn’t want it to seem suspicious to management.”

“Smart. I have the findings on this,” Tim said, handing Winters the flash drive. “We were hoping you could tell us what the marker is for.”

“Of course. I’ll see what I can do. Just give me a moment,” Winters said, going over to his laptop. He sat down in his chair and inserted the flash drive into the port. In just a few seconds, Winters was already rummaging through all the files. Not knowing what else to do, Conner slowly floated over to the general vicinity of the desk. Getting too close might make Winters uncomfortable because not everyone was used to having a Kryptonian literally hovering over their shoulder as they worked. Not to mention that Conner had no idea what any of the stuff on the screen meant anyway.

“I think I’ve seen this before,” Winters said after a few minutes of staring at the different documents. “Not _exactly_ this, of course—it’s always at least a little different because of patents and all—but yeah, it’s familiar.”

“Do you know what it is?” Tim asked.

“I think so. Hang on,” Winters said with a confused expression. He shot out of his chair and towards the nearby door that led to the bedroom. Tim and Conner waited as they heard him noisily going through boxes and flipping through pages in the other room. A minute later he came back out, holding a large textbook open in his hand. He looked up with a less than excited look on his face and pushed his glasses back. “Metagenes.”

“What?” Tim and Conner asked at once. They couldn’t hide how alarmed they were.

“Are you sure?” Tim pressed with an edge to his voice. Winters showed him the textbook to prove his point.

“Absolutely. You can’t get a Masters in Human Genetics—or even anything related to it—without dealing with metagenes. It’s a hot topic these days, given how we live in a world with superheroes,” he said, sounding as sure as Lois did when she was really onto something. “This particular marker is ‘looking’ for _dormant_ metagenes.”

“Oh god, no,” Conner breathed, suddenly all the air gone from his lungs. This wasn’t good, not at all. The implications of this were terrible, bordering on absolutely horrific. Not everyone had dormant metagenes tucked away somewhere in their DNA, but some people did. Active metagenes were responsible for everything from Black Canary’s “Canary Cry” to Static’s electricity-based powers. Anyone with active metagenes would be classified as a metahuman, and sometimes even Conner was lumped in that group too, despite his powers being a result of his Kryptonian DNA. It wouldn’t take a lot of effort to come up with a reason someone would to try and eliminate metas, but this drug was aimed at those who _weren’t_ metas—not explicitly, not yet. And they probably would never have been.

“The marker’s function is two-fold. Not only does it identify dormant metagenes, but once it has, it more-or-less sets off a chemical chain reaction. That’s how the steroid and hallucinogen get ‘activated.’” He flipped the page and Tim’s frown deepened as he read further.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Conner asked, feeling a mix of anger, despair, and helplessness as he thought of all the various reasons for making such an evil thing.

“Maybe,” Tim started, still mulling it all over. “If so, then this takes anti-meta hate crimes to a whole new level.”

“Why would _anyone_ ever want to do this? It’s incomprehensibly malicious. It’s preying on innocent, vulnerable people and turning them into ticking time bombs,” Winters said with utter disbelief. Conner had a hard time getting his head around it too. Some people were just really sadistic and messed up.

“Though it sort of makes sense why this is in an antidepressant, doesn’t it?” Tim said.

“Huh?” Conner wasn’t sure what Tim was getting at.

“When the dark side of the drug kicks in it’s easy to pass off the ensuing violence as the victim ‘snapping’ as a result of their depression. Some people who suffer from chronic depression actually do exhibit violent outbursts. So while it could and _would_ be seen as an extreme case, it would be hard to prove that the drug caused it, especially considering how the ingredient list is fake. Aside from that, because Alpramine is the only common factor in all these deaths—and a hidden one at that—all sorts of conclusions can be drawn ranging from ‘accident’ to ‘mystery killer,’ like we had thought earlier,” Tim said. It was a little unsettling how rationally Tim was able to think about it. While Conner’s own mind had shut out everything except feelings of horror, Tim was busy running through a hundred different circumstances in his head. His ability to stay calm in such situations simultaneously amazed Conner and freaked him out. They were all so lucky that Tim was on their side, because he could take over the world if he really set his mind to it.

“Not to mention that if this is some sort of twisted experiment, the sample size is relatively sensible, even if it’s difficult to directly monitor the results,” Winters added, shutting the heavy textbook in his arms and tossing it onto the couch. Tim nodded in agreement.

“There’s that, too.”

“You really think it could just be an experiment?” Conner asked.

“We can’t rule it out. But it’s inefficient, all things considered. It could just be an insidious way to kill unassuming… _pre_ -metahumans. Or it could be a way to turn them into full-fledged metas. Unless the person is born with active metagenes, they’re usually dormant until activated—if that’s the right way to put it—by certain situations. And by that I mean high-stress or even life-or-death situations. The drug certainly causes those to happen. Once the genes are fully activated, maybe the drug does something else or, more likely, whoever’s behind this is able to track down the new meta, for whatever terrible purpose they have in mind,” Tim said. Conner was afraid that might be the case. Wasn’t it bad enough that these people were being killed by the drug, but it was also possible that wasn’t even its true purpose? If the ultimate goal was to create and then probably abduct new metas, what if it was all so the mastermind behind this could perform torturous experiments? It was a dangerous world already for metahumans considering how many unhinged people there were out there ready to slice them open to see how their powers really worked. And now this.

“If death isn’t the intended outcome and ‘success’ consisted of their dormant metagenes becoming active, how would they know if or when said ‘success’ is achieved?” Winters asked.

“Yeah it’s unlikely they’re monitoring everyone on the drug. Considering how at least a couple hundred people are probably on this thing in Metropolis alone, it would be ridiculously expensive to play Big Brother with all of them,” Conner said. Tim thought for a moment, the gears turning inside his head.

“It’s hard to say anything for sure, but if someone were to suddenly develop superpowers from a possibly traumatic experience, they’d get help. Or try to, at least. Maybe when they seek out help they end up getting snatched.”

“And then turned into lab rats.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” Winters said with a shaky voice. “I think I need to sit down.” He plopped down onto the couch, next to his book, and buried his face in his hands. It was rare that they dragged civilians into these things, but Winters had thus far proven beyond useful.

“You okay?” Tim asked in a softer voice than his Detective one.

“I knew there were bad people out there who did bad things—sometimes for no reason—but this is all so…. It’s just hard to swallow. To think I worked for the same company responsible for this,” Winters said with guilt written all over his face.

“There’s no reason to blame yourself. You couldn’t have known and besides, Jupiter Inc. is a huge company. Most people there probably have no idea either. It’s likely the doing of a small group of powerful people within the company or its branches. Or even just one person,” Tim said in order to console him a little. Winters seemed somewhat convinced and nodded slowly in understanding.

“So then… what are you going to do now? There’s not much else _I_ can do.”

“There’s no telling how safe it would be for you to do anything else anyway. The last thing I want to do is paint a target on your back by having you do something that might catch the attention of your superiors. No telling who’s watching.”

“I guess that’s true,” Winters said standing back up. “But if there’s anything else you need please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Of course,” Tim said even though Conner knew it was unlikely. They were already putting him in danger just by being here and there was no way they’d risk any more.

“Promise me you’ll get whoever’s behind this. Make sure they rot in a cell somewhere and never see daylight again for what they’ve done,” Winters said. His voice was still shaky but this time it was because of anger, and they could all relate to that.

“You have my word.” Tim pulled out a little white card and handed it to Winters. “In case you find something or need anything, that’s a secure line you can call to reach us. If you think you’re in trouble, don’t hesitate to call. We’ll be there.”

“Or if you can’t call, just yell. I’ll hear you,” Conner said, making a mental note to keep an ear out for Winters until this whole thing was over. Winters looked at the card, then at both of them, and smiled a little. He was trying to seem more stoic than he probably was and Conner couldn’t blame him. He and Tim lived in a world where things like this weren’t out of the ordinary and it was still hard for them to digest. But Winters was just a civilian—and not like Lois who regularly saw the other side of the veil—but a regular one whose biggest worries used to range from job performance to taxes. Now his life would never be the same.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I have a habit of being overly cautious and maybe this is one of those times that it’s not a bad thing.” Winters tucked the card into his pocket and patted it.

“You’ll probably want to quit before we bring the hammer down on these guys, though. Who knows how far the shockwave will reach,” Conner advised him as he led them towards the door.

“Just in case, huh? Well, maybe tomorrow’s the day. I heard there’s an opening at MetU anyway, so….”

“Whatever you decide, make sure you’re safe and free of suspicion,” Tim said once they were on the other side of doorway. “I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”

“R-Right. I could say the same—stay safe out there!” Winters said turning about as red as Tim’s costume. Then he added, “Both of you!”

“Thanks,” Tim said and Conner figured that nodding somberly was good enough. It’d at least prevent everything from becoming awkward again. He could only take so much in one day.

It wasn’t until they were back on the roof that Conner said “Dude, that guy is so in love with you,” right before scooping Tim up as easily as a bale of hay, though with more finesse. Wait no—he didn’t want to think about all the chores he’d have to catch up on once he got back to the farm. Though it beat having to think about everything else.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim said as they took off back towards the tower. The midday sun was high and the streets had all but cleared out for the time being.

“I’m being serious!” Conner said.

“He might _like_ me, but you can’t be _in love_ with someone you barely know,” Tim argued. Once again, Conner wanted to roll his eyes but Tim would likely notice and then launch into a full-blown lecture. Though that might make it easier to figure out where exactly he stood in terms of love and stuff like that….

“You know what I mean,” he said instead, afraid he’d hear something he wouldn’t want to. Being in the land of in-between was better than being in the land of utter and complete heartbreak.

“Yeah, I do.” Tim was never a big believer of love at first sight and other related clichés. He was a little slow to trust, as were all Bats, but at least he wasn’t as bad as the Dark Knight himself. Still, Tim always played it close the chest so falling head over heels for someone he didn’t actually know just wasn’t like him. The fact that Conner had Tim’s trust to begin with was miraculous. The fact that Tim seemed to trust him completely was… well, there wasn’t a word good enough to describe just how that felt. Conner dared to wonder if that meant that he might actually have a chance with Tim. He dared to wonder if Bart had been right all along.

And if it wasn’t to be, then at least he could have this moment. Tim had relaxed enough that he rested his head on Conner’s shoulder again. It was quickly becoming something that Conner liked—a lot—and he knew, somewhere in the more rational part of his brain, that it wasn’t smart to like it so much. But he didn’t care—at least not in that instance.

It was the sound of an ambulance’s sirens from the other side of the city that pulled Conner out of his moment. It wasn’t anything serious, just a kid who had broken his leg during recess, as he heard from the police scanner. For some reason though, it made him suddenly remember Jaqueline Farrows.

“Are you okay?” Tim asked. Was Conner really _that_ bad at hiding his emotions or did their close proximity allow Tim to read him more easily than usual?

“Just thinking about Mrs. Farrows,” Conner said. “I know I shouldn’t get hung up on all the people I couldn’t save, but…. Damn it, I really thought she’d make it.”

“I saw the reports. Her injures were extensive, Conner. Humans can rebound from a lot of things but sometimes it’s just too much. At least you were there to hold her hand in her last moments of consciousness,” Tim said. “It would have meant a lot to her that she wasn’t alone.”

“Yeah.” Tim was trying to comfort him and Conner was so grateful for it. But why did it sound like Tim knew what someone would want in their last moments from personal experience? He almost sounded reflective. He’d told Conner about his various brushes with death but had he downplayed just how close he’d been to…?

Conner tried not to think too hard about it but that was much easier said than done. He tried his best at keeping a straight face without giving away his charade. He tried to think about something that wasn’t as depressing. It must’ve worked somewhat since Tim didn’t say anything else. Thankfully, he only had to hold out for a little while longer because the terrace of the penthouse was well within view.

“Give me a minute and I’ll get changed,” Tim said once Conner set him down after landing. He had already pulled off his cowl and was unfastening his cape as he went inside. Conner figured he’d change too, or at least throw on another shirt. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to see them in their costumes, but it was just habit at this point. That and it felt a little weird to be standing in such a fancy place wearing their costumes.

“I could help,” Conner offered comically to lighten the atmosphere. He was also being a little serious, but not that Tim would actually know.

“You’d only slow me down,” Tim countered without missing a beat. Some part of Conner’s mind assessed the implications of that statement and filed it under “future challenge.” Just in case the universe was kind and the gods gave him a chance.

As Tim disappeared down the hallway, Conner spotted the plaid shirt he’d left on the couch and slipped back into it. There had been a time where he hated plaid, a time where he’d never be caught dead in it, but now he’d grown to like it. He had to admit that he’d changed a lot over the years, basically to the point where sometimes he’d look back and cringe at his early days. But at least past him would’ve had the courage to ask Tim out or whatever. Conner groaned and sunk into the couch as he wondered when exactly he had become such a coward. But maybe it was for the best because back then he had absolutely no filter whatsoever, and that had gotten him in a lot of trouble. Not to mention, it had led to dozens of arguments with Tim. Looking back, Tim had pretty much always been right. At least now those were few and far between, and Conner was glad for that.

It didn’t take long for Tim to return to the living room, dressed in the same sweater he’d been wearing earlier that morning. “I took the liberty of ordering us Chinese food. That okay with you?” he said, sitting down in the chair adjacent to the couch and snatching up his laptop.

“Tell me you ordered that lo mein from Jade Palace,” Conner said, leaning back as Tim started typing away.

“Of course. I know how much you liked it last time.”

“You’re the best,” Conner said with total certainty. Tim looked up at him and smiled before turning his attention back to his screen. Conner had no idea why it made him feel the way it did, but he couldn’t help but smile too, even if Tim was no longer looking. Without anything else to do, he allowed himself to relax into the couch. Tim had that focused look on his face—the one that he always had when he was doing something important.

Tim had changed too, despite many of his mannerisms staying pretty much the same as Conner remembered them. They’d all changed so much that sometimes he wondered how they managed stay so close. He’d witnessed old friends grow apart as the years went by and it was honestly one of his worst fears. He couldn’t imagine his life without his friends and of course, without Tim. Maybe it was stressful circumstances and tragedies that held them all together. They’d all clung to each other, grateful for having found each other in the first place. Ties like that were hard to break.

But being close and being _lovers_ were two entirely different things. Sure what he and Tim had was special, but was that enough to warrant an actual relationship? He never really considered himself insecure, but Conner had been somewhat disheartened by how many things in common Tim had with Aaron Winters, despite them not actually knowing each other. They were both into science and computers. They both liked photography and looked cute in sweaters. They were both ridiculously smart. Conner had none of those things in common with Tim. He was decent at biology but too impatient to be that proficient with computers. He didn’t know the first thing about photography and sweaters were so not his style. He wasn’t stupid but he definitely wasn’t anywhere near Tim’s level of intelligence. And while Winters wasn’t the most graceful person he’d ever met, Conner himself was little more than an awkward country bumpkin with dorky glasses. Winters would actually look _good_ next to one of Gotham’s elegant and sophisticated princes, but Conner would just be wholly out of place. Like the same way Ma’s favorite old chair would look so _improper_ in this swanky, upscale apartment.

What if he just wasn’t good enough for someone like Tim? He knew he shouldn’t think like that. If Tim ever found out he’d be more than just upset. But the hodge-podge of thoughts and assortment of doubts were already swirling inside his head. He tried reminding himself of what Bart had said but he was afraid of giving himself false hope. A part of him wanted to let this whole thing go, but the other part didn’t want to. In reality, he _couldn’t_ let go of this dream of his. There had to be hope for him yet. There just _had_ to.

“Okay,” Tim said suddenly while placing his laptop back on the table. Conner pulled himself out of his thoughts again and put on his best listening face. “I’ve compiled a giant list of all of Jupiter’s Inc. employees and their backgrounds, from clerks to managers and everyone else on the payroll. I’m running it through a program that’ll look for anything shady. Well, not things like parking tickets and illegal music downloads but you know, _other_ stuff. Only problem is that without any real parameters to narrow down the search, it’s going to take a while. Not to mention that my laptop doesn’t exactly have the processing power of the computers back in the Batcave.”

“How long do you think it’s going to take?”

“A few hours maybe. It’s a big company, so there’s thousands of employees to sift through,” Tim said just moments before the doorbell rang. So they had few hours to kill before they got back to work, but at least lunch was here.

“That was fast,” Conner said as they both got up. A kid no older than them was at the door in a lopsided hat, faded green shirt, and worn-out sneakers. Conner took the bag of food while Tim handed the kid a small wad of cash and thanked him.

“Jeez, how much did you give that kid? Looked like he was gonna faint,” Conner said once the door was closed again.

“I thought I should tip him for the speedy delivery,” Tim said.

“If I ever became a delivery boy, would you tip me that much?”

“Considering how I know that you can fly and have superspeed? No.”

“Aw, come on.” Conner set down the bag on the kitchen counter and fished out the contents.

“Alright, maybe. But only because you’re cute,” Tim said as Conner slid a carton and a pair chopsticks over to him.

“Damn right I’m cute.”

“Maybe I should have ordered some more—you know, for both you _and_ your ego.” Conner stuck his tongue out at him but Tim only laughed before shoveling some lo mein into his mouth. Conner followed suit and relished how food always seemed to taste better when you had someone to share it with.

Because they were both pretty hungry and because the food was deceptively delicious, they ate in relative silence until they were nearly done. Then Conner decided to ask, “You and photography, huh?”

“What about it? You know I like photography.”

“Sure. But you’ve never really told me _why_ you like it,” Conner said. This was his chance at getting to know those sorts of things. Tim raised an eyebrow but gave it a moment’s thought more.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” he said.

“Of _course_ I care.” Jesus, of course he cared—he cared more than he probably should have about practically everything about Tim lately.

“Oh fine,” Tim started, setting down his chopsticks. “There’s just something about it, you know? The ability to capture a moment forever? I know that’s cheesy, but it’s true. For example, can you envision the way that light falls on something or someone and illuminates all the things about it that make it beautiful? Or how in an otherwise plain or even desolate background there’s something bright or something hopeful right in the middle, if only you look closely enough to notice? Wouldn’t you want to capture a moment like that forever, knowing that it’s more than just a picture, but actually a little part of the world? And each one is different from the last—says something else, teaches you a little more than you knew before you’ve taken it or seen it. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but to me photography is a subtle—or sometimes not-so-subtle—commentary on the human condition.”

Conner was quiet for a while, unsure of how to react to that. Tim had gotten so _into it_ that Conner could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. It sounded all artsy and a little nerdy, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely beautiful. And for a second Conner saw the boy that Tim used to be before the world slowly wore away his optimism and wonder. A boy that saw beauty where others couldn’t. Maybe that part of him would always remain inside despite how much he changed or whatever he went through, both in the past and in the future. Conner hoped so, prayed so, because he loved that part of Tim too.

“So, what sort of stuff do you like the most?” he asked. Tim didn’t have to think about it very long before he was able to answer.

“A lot of people prefer still life, landscapes, and stuff like that. I like those too—a lot, really—but I think my favorites have to be the ones with people in them. Not necessarily portraits, but rather candid shots. It’s like catching the essence of whatever that person is feeling in that exact moment,” he explained.

“You sure it’s not just a leftover from your stalker days?” Conner teased. Tim just shot him a look and continued.

“It’s just nice to be able to relive an old memory sometimes,” he said. He bit his lip a little, as if wondering whether or not to divulge any more information. He must’ve thought that he may as well because he continued to say, “I have this giant photo album of just candid shots of everyone I’ve ever really cared about. My parents, my other and very dysfunctional family, everyone from our Young Justice days, the Titans, _you_ , and so on. You’re all in there.”

“And…?” Conner asked gently when Tim stopped and bit his lip again. Tim looked at him for a second, then looked away, almost like he was ashamed or nervous.

“And that one album was what kept me going when you were all… gone. Hundreds of memories of everyone I’ve ever loved, all made eternal on tiny pieces of paper. Most of those pictures aren’t very pretty. Some are in admittedly bad lighting and at weird angles. They wouldn’t win any prizes at any contest, but they’re the most priceless things I own.”

Again, Conner didn’t know what to say or how to react. He just sort of sat there, dumbfounded and amazed, and wished he had the wisdom to know what to do. He wanted to wrap Tim up in a hug and tell him that it was all okay now and that he’d never have to relive something like that. Of course, that would probably freak him out, so Conner just stayed where he was and simply said, “Oh.” Then after a few seconds, he realized that Tim had just exposed something from the very depths of his soul. That he had revealed something about his darkest moments. Something that he likely wouldn’t share with anyone else.

And that said a lot.

Maybe the measure of two people’s relationship was more than just how much they had in common or how alike they were or how good they looked together. Maybe all that really mattered in the end was trust and loyalty. Maybe those were the pillars that made up love.

Maybe Conner did have a chance after all.

“You done?” Tim asked before Conner was able to say anything.

“Yeah.” Tim grabbed their empty cartons and tossed them in the trash before leaning against the counter.

“Sorry for dumping that on you,” he said with an apologetic look.

“Don’t be,” Conner said. “You know for a fact that you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Tim said. Then after a moment, “You know you can tell me anything, too.”

“What? Of course….” _Oh_.

Oh shit.

“I—” Conner uttered, unsure of where to really begin.

“You’ve been acting really weird, lately. I just want know if everything’s okay. Or if there’s anything I can do to help,” Tim said. He sounded so hopeful and encouraging that it really made Conner want to come clean. And maybe it wasn’t time to, like, come out of closet or anything, but maybe he could tell Tim what had been bothering him for so long. Tim deserved to know at least that much.

“It’s just that….” Conner had no idea how to approach this. He wished he’d inherited Clark’s ability to talk his way out of everything. But all he could really do was try his best and hope it wouldn’t end up a disaster. “I really care about you, okay?”

“Okay…?” Tim replied, as if that was obvious—because it was. They both cared about each other a lot, and everyone knew it.

“It just really freaks me out whenever you get hurt,” Conner continued, knowing that he wasn’t being very eloquent. But with each word, the next came a little easier. “And you’ve been so reckless lately that it actually scares me. It’s almost like you don’t care what happens to you—like as long as the mission is complete, your well-being is inconsequential.”

“Kon….” Tim said softly, his eyes full of confusion. He straightened up a little, moving away from the counter but not away from Conner.

“But your safety and your health _do_ matter because _you_ matter. You mean so much to me that I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I don’t really know what I’m asking for here, but I want you to know how important you are,” Conner said. “I just really need you to be more careful, okay?”

“Alright, I….” Tim started, not looking at Conner but instead at the fake plant on the counter. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was rare. “I understand. I’ll try to be careful.”

“Thank you,” Conner said in barely a whisper. Tim looked at him after that, still appearing confused. They stood like that for a while, just calmly holding each other’s gaze as if sharing another secret, but without saying anything. And then something seemed to shift inside Tim. The confusion melted away and his baby blues seemed to peer deep into Conner’s heart. Then, Tim seemed to find the answers he was looking for. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open a little, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Conner couldn’t say anything either, suddenly seized by a wave of panic as he realized that Tim had figured him out.

“Oh,” Tim breathed so softly that if Conner didn’t have superhearing, he would’ve missed it entirely. And he would’ve missed the way that Tim’s heart began to race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for that cliffhanger--I had no clue where else to end this chapter and it just seemed like a good spot. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. It was pretty tough to write, but I'm mostly satisfied. Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, subscribing, and commenting!!! Your support is what keeps my writing spirit alive!
> 
> And because some people have asked, yeah the titles are double entendres but I don't know how long I can keep that up, hahaha.


	6. A Plot Uncovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a possible trigger warning for suicide (investigation).

Conner was frozen.

It was like time had stopped altogether. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. He was so focused on trying _not_ to listen to Tim’s heart trip all over itself because he didn’t know what that actually meant. From where he stood, it seemed to him that there was one of two ways this could go: either Tim would reject him—or rather, he’d deflect the whole situation, never to be spoken of again—or… or maybe Tim would reciprocate in some way. That was all considering the likelihood of Tim having understood what Conner was really getting at, but given how terrible Conner was at hiding things and how Tim had been trained so well by his mentor that Ra’s Al Ghul now called him “Detective” too, it was more than likely that Tim had seen through him like glass.

Neither of them moved for a very long time, waiting for the other one to do something first. Conner couldn’t believe that he’d just outed himself. He’d done some pretty dumb things, but this might just take the cake forever and all eternity. But he swore that he’d been as careful as he could’ve been. Was it just bad luck that it was Tim of all people that he was trying to hide his true feelings from? Because that was like trying to hide a stolen box of goods while standing center-stage with the spotlight beaming down on you. Either way, he couldn’t take it back now and it was too late to laugh it off, considering how _caught_ he probably looked.

They were locked in a silent stalemate until Tim mustered up the courage to begin, “Conner, I…,” but he never got to finish because at that exact moment, Conner’s phone began to ring from the living room. Neither of them made any attempt to go get it at first, but then Tim gave a resigned sigh, blinked hard, and looked away as if withdrawing entirely from their not-conversation. Conner took it as a cue to snap out of his paralysis and answer the phone—which he both currently hated for interrupting Tim and also loved for saving him from possible heartbreak. It was all out in the open now, just floating there, and it would have to be addressed sooner rather than later.

Part of him wished it wasn’t anything while the other part hoped it was about the case—the only thing that could distract them from the ginormous neon-colored elephant in the room. The latter part of him won when he saw that it was Lois who was calling. “Hello?” he answered while thinking _you have both the best and worst timing ever._

“Hey, I hope not interrupting anything,” Lois said when Conner put her on speaker phone. He didn’t turn dare turn around because he didn’t want to risk accidentally meeting Tim’s eyes, but he heard Tim hum flatly in response.

“No, no,” Conner lied. He could almost _feel_ Tim staring through him from behind.

“What is it, Lois?” Tim asked, sounding way too normal.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Lois started. They could hear the typing away at her keyboard and Conner wondered if he was the only one who couldn’t multitask like that. “You guys found the real list of ingredients for Alpramine, right? I think we should go public with it—blow the lid right off this whole thing so that no one else gets hurt because of this drug.”

“I’ve thought about that too,” Tim said, “But we just found out the real purpose of this thing and its targeting dormant metagenes. Its either meant to kill anyone with them, or turn them into full-fledged metas, possibly so they can be studied. I’ll admit that it’s mostly speculation at this point, but there aren’t many other reasons for this thing even _existing_ if not for that.”

“Holy shit,” Lois breathed. She had stopped typing and they heard the creak of her chair. “Holy shit, it’s like a hate crime of unthinkable proportions. How many people take this drug? And how many people out of those could be at risk?”

“Despite my best efforts, I don’t know for sure. It’s sort of impossible to say, but the drug itself reaches thousands of people so even a fraction would mean hundreds at risk,” Tim explained.

“So _shouldn’t_ we go public with this? Wouldn’t it at least bring the drug—or the whole company—under scrutiny or something?” Conner asked.

“Yeah, it would. It would also give whoever’s behind this a huge head start to disappear.”

“And then we’d never catch them,” Lois concluded as Tim’s laptop gave out a soft ping.

“That was quick,” he murmured as he went to check.

“What happened?” Conner asked.

“Without any real parameters, the search came up inconclusive. It’s like trying to sift sand when you have a giant hole in the sifter. There’s a small chance you’ll find what you’re looking for, but it’s mostly pointless,” Tim said, a little frustrated.

“So what do we do now?”

“I think I might have a lead,” Lois chimed in. “Remember that doctor? Dr. Grange? The one that committed suicide and left the note incriminating Alpramine in the first place?”

“The autopsy said he actually _did_ commit suicide. Do you think there was foul play involved that they missed?” Tim asked. “Coercion, maybe?”

“If I was an evil mastermind and someone was planning to blow the lid off my evil scheme I’d want them silenced too, maybe with a convenient ‘accident.’ Isn’t that how it always goes?” Conner said.

“Pretty much. There wasn’t anything that stood out from the doctor’s case file, though it’s worth another look. The police don’t look that hard into suicides—not the same way they do with murders,” Tim said.

“Yeah but a while after they found the little note that read ‘Alpramine’ they found another wedged between some sofa cushions that read, ‘It’s just too much.’ They’ve deemed that as the suicide note, hence why they packed the case away with a little bow never to be opened again,” Lois said.

“Just like that?” Conner asked in disbelief. Already stretched too thin in practically every way and in every city, no police department would waste time or resources on cases that neatly wrapped themselves up. But it still didn’t sit right with him.

“Despite what the media would like us to think, only about a quarter of suicides end with a note or some sort of… final farewell. The other seventy-five percent of cases are kept open for a while, since there’s the possibility of foul play. Due to the lack of a ‘goodbye,’ it’s hard to know for sure. So it’s no wonder the police closed this sort of case when they could. It seemed almost textbook,” Tim said.

“Someone could force you to write a note,” Conner said. He’d seen it happen way too many times, and it didn’t always end well even if they got there in time.

“Yeah but it’s usually somewhat obvious that they were coerced into it,” Lois said. They could hear her typing away again on the other end of the line. “They’d be surrounded by at least a _little_ bit of suspicious evidence, so _someone’s_ going to look into it sooner or later. Be it police, nosy reporters, or special concerned citizens like yourselves.”

“Maybe we should take a look into this one, then,” Tim concluded. “If nothing else, it might help us narrow down our search parameters.”

“Sound like you’ve got yourselves a plan. So… Lois out!”

“Bye Lois,” Conner said just before she hung up. He stashed his phone back in his pocket and kind of just stood there uncomfortably, not knowing if he should say something or not. Lois’ phone call had broken the tension between him and Tim, but now that it was just the two of them again, the blanket of awkwardness fell back into place, smothering him.

Luckily, Tim didn’t seem eager to return to their previous non-conversation, and was already moving towards the hallway. That’s when Conner heard the sirens.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” Tim asked, recognizing the urgent tone in Conner’s voice.

“Something’s going on a few blocks from here. Not sure what.”

“Go check it out. I’ll send you the doctor’s address and meet you there,” Tim instructed.

“Alright.” Conner was out the door in seconds, though he was careful not to break anything with his super speed. Ma lectured him plenty and he didn’t need Tim to lecture him too. Though he did wonder whether or not that would dispel the weirdness that he’d brought upon them.

 _That’ll have to wait,_ he decided as he honed in on a police car. Its sirens were going off wildly but drew little attention from bystanders who were well-accustomed to the sound unlike folks back in Smallville. It had taken a while until Conner got the hang of listening for them, but now it was as easy flying.

“Little girl hung up before dispatch got her information,” the officer said. Conner followed the car and the ambulance that was now trailing behind it. If someone hung up abruptly on a dispatcher…well, it wasn’t a good sign. Conner wondered if it was another Alpramine case. Worse still, this involved a child.

“Need backup?” another officer radioed in.

“No. I’ve got Duncan with me. I’ll call if I need to.”

“Copy that.” Not that backup would do much good if this ended up like all the others had. Though there was a pretty good chance it could be something else.

For once in his life, it seemed, he was actually right.

Miraculously, once he arrived on scene, it wasn’t a gruesome sight of broken furniture and blood. Well, there was a little blood. A boy sat on the steps of his porch nursing his arm. Conner didn’t need his x-ray vision to know that it was broken. The boy also had a small cut on his head that his little sister was tending to with an annoyed look on her face.

“I told you this would happen! I told you mattress surfing was a bad idea! Mom and Dad are going to be so mad when they get back!” she yelled just as the police and ambulance pulled up.

“Shut up, I know,” the boy said miserably as Conner let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been seen yet and figured that since this was just a kid being reckless and hurting himself—and definitely not an evil drug causing the death of an innocent person and possibly their loved ones—that he might as well take off. He wasn’t needed here.

He took off again in the opposite direction while checking his phone to see if Tim had sent him the doctor’s address, which he had. It seemed that Dr. Grange lived close to the bay, on the other side of the Shuster Sport Arena, past the Daily Planet. Conner figured that if he was already so close by, he might as well drop in to say hi to Lois.

Conner landed on the roof and went in through the well-used access door. He had to super speed to Lois’ office to avoid being seen as Superboy, but her office was close by anyway. She jumped a little when Conner more-or-less appeared out of nowhere, sending a stack of files that were precariously placed at the edge of her desk tumbling to the ground.

“You think I’d be used to that!” she sighed as she picked them up and put them back in a less precarious position.

“Sorry,” Conner said with a little shrug, still standing by the door. “Just dropped by to say hello.”

"Didn’t I just talk to you like five minutes ago?”

“Well yeah, but….”

Lois examined him for a moment and frowned while sitting back down. “You’re here for more than a hello, aren’t you?”

“You might be right about that,” Conner admitted, floating over to her desk.

“You don’t want to sit?” she asked, angling the computer monitor away so she could see him clearly as she leaned back in her chair like a therapist.

“Not really.”

“Do you… want me to stand?”

“What? Why? No, just stay seated.”

“Okay. But this doesn’t seem like you’re here as the bearer of bad news. Of course, that only makes this more interesting,” she said, sitting forward a little with that signature glint in her eyes.

“I can’t just drop in to say ‘hi’ every now and then?” Conner asked, poorly faking indignation. They both knew he was here for advice.

“Yeah, yeah, enough small talk, Smallville Jr.,” she said crossing her arms and bouncing her foot up and down like she did when she was impatient. “Spill it. What’s wrong?”

“Okay,” Conner said after a minute of being started at. “So, I have this _friend_.”

“Nuh uh. We’re not going to do this ‘I-have-this-friend’ thing. You’re going to give it to me straight,” Her voice said _no bullshit_ but there was a smile on her face that made it feel a little less like an interview or interrogation than it probably was.

“But I really _do_ have this friend…,” Conner started nervously, “… who I might be in love with?”

Lois’ eyes went wide at that and she pursed her lips, unsure of what to say, but eventually managing, “Oh.” She repositioned herself in her seat and continued, “Well that changes things, unless this is a case of extreme narcissism. But I think you’ve grown out of that by now.”

“Yeah.” Conner said, trying not to blush. He wondered if he should just tell her the whole story like he’d done with Ma and Bart, who had once said that the quality of advice someone could give was directly proportional to how much information they had, or something unnecessarily complicated like that. What Conner had taken away from it was that you’d be better off just telling the other person what they needed to know.

“Anyway, should I take a guess?” Lois offered.

“I think you already know.” Not only was Lois too observant to _not_ know, but the current situation made it painfully obvious.

“Is it…,” Lois began. She then stopped herself, pondered some more, and finally decided to ask, “Is it Tim?”

“Uh.” Conner tried saying something intelligent, but he quickly gave up and just settled for a low, confirmatory hum instead.

“Ah.” Lois didn’t seem too sure about how to continue for a minute. But she gathered herself and said, “Well, I guess I should have seen that coming. I mean, you’re _always_ talking about him when you’re not hanging out. Oh, speaking of which, how are you holding up? I mean, if I was in your position I’d go nuts. Staying under the same roof as the person you love without them knowing how you feel—oh, he doesn’t know, does he?”

“Uh,” Conner tried again. “I dunno.”

“Wait what?” Lois quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We had this… _discussion_ —”

“You mean an argument?”

“ _Discussion_. And I didn’t mean to tell him—at least, totally not like that—but I think he sort of figured it out. You know, because it’s Tim.”

“Oh my,” Lois said in a way that made Conner’s heart sink. “You sure he knows?”

“I’m not sure about anything! Which is why I have no idea what to do. Should I just pretend like nothing happened or something?”

“If I were him, that would just piss me off.”

“So what do I do?”

“Well….”

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Conner asked after Lois failed to answer.

“Yup.”

“Great,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Just great.”

“Don’t worry,” Lois said, rolling over to him with her chair and patting him on the shoulder. “It’s not all that bad. You’re didn’t _totally_ fuck up. Just a little.”

“Gee thanks,” he said flatly.

“Wait a minute—weren’t you guys headed to that doctor’s house?”

“Yeah, but I heard some commotion nearby but it turned out to be nothing. We’re meeting up there.”

“Then for one, I wouldn’t keep him waiting much longer. He’s too smart—he’ll realize that something’s up,” Lois said. “And I know it’s easier said than done but try not to freak out because nothing good ever comes of it. You don’t have to confess your undying love for him right now or anything, so relax a little or you might end up saying something you shouldn’t. That would make matters worse. Give it a little time so you can gauge exactly where you both stand before you decide to go ahead and tell him anything else, okay? Things are going to be awkward right now, but he’s still your best friend right?”

“Of course. _Nothing_ could change that,” Conner said determinedly.

“Then it’s going to be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Lois said with a warm smile, reassuring him in the way he needed to be. “And you know, Clark told me how torn up Tim was when you were… gone. Given that, it’d be pretty hard to believe that he doesn’t feel _something_ for you. I don’t know the details, but if nothing else, he did drop everything and come all the way out here to help you. That at least has to mean something.”

“I know. Bart keeps trying to tell me that. I should probably listen.”

“You probably should. But don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart kid, even if you like to pretend sometimes that you’re not,” she said with a wink. It made him blush a little.

“Right. Well, I should go.” Conner had been stalling for too long now. He could make up some time in air, but due to the short distance between the Planet and the doctor’s house it’d be best if he didn’t delay the inevitable any longer. Why make it worse for himself than it already was?

“Alright, then. Stay cool, don’t freak out, you’ll be fine,” Lois called as he sped out of the building. He repeated her words in his head like a mantra as he flew past the arena. He let the wind rush through his hair and whip at his face, letting it clear his head a little. He promised himself that it’d all be just fine and that, at least until they solved this case once and for all, it’d be all business. Like Lois had said, he and Tim had time.

Conner landed in front of an old two-story house on a plot of land that might be considered tiny in Smallville. However, in the middle of Metropolis it would be considered pretty decent. There were a few similar looking houses around it but taller apartments rose up again a few blocks over, and the high-rises were impossible to miss altogether despite their distance. But if you kept walking down the street a little in the opposite direction, you’d be able to see West River and the docks.

The house was surrounded by the classical white picket fence, though the paint was peeling in places and it didn’t really serve any other purpose than giving the house the “American Dream” sort of feel. It was too easy to jump over to offer any protection, and the gate was partly broken anyway. Despite that, Conner noticed how well-kept the lawn and the flowers lining the pathway up to the house were. Two trimmed bushes flanked a single stair that led up to the porch where yellow crime scene tape still hung from the columns which held up the awning above the door. He ducked under the tape and went inside the house only to feel immediately out of place for some reason.

The place was unnervingly quiet, as if the walls themselves were withholding the secrets he and Tim intended to uncover. All the curtains in the house seemed to be drawn, making the whole place dark and not helping the gloomy atmosphere whatsoever. Conner floated into the main living room to find Tim standing near an armchair, scanning it with another device Conner hadn’t seen before. Or maybe he had and just forgot because it was pointless trying to keep up with all those gadgets the Bats kept inventing.

The living room was just as gloomy as the entrance had been, since much of the light from outside was being blocked by heavy dark-green curtains. The doctor clearly didn’t have very good taste in terms of interior design, but maybe Conner was being a little more finicky now that he’d spent so long in that swanky penthouse. The room itself was pretty neat apart from pile of books on a side table near the couch that had toppled onto the carpet. He wasn’t sure what they were about, but one that lay open had a diagram of a human (probably) brain, so he could guess. On the mantle above the fireplace there stood an old picture of the doctor with a young boy that was probably his nephew. Tim had gotten a hold of the doctor’s basic details and it turned out that he was divorced without kids, but he had an estranged younger sister that lived in Fawcett City. Circumstances made Conner wonder exactly what the reason for their falling-out had been and if it had anything to do with this case. It also bothered him that now there might not be anyone to mourn his death apart from that nephew.

That being said, was it so bad to leave this world doing as little as possible emotional damage to everyone you cared about? He didn’t know the answer to that and he certainly wasn’t willing to ask in order to find out. Though one thing was for sure: he’d make sure the poor doctor’s death was not in vain.

“Hello,” Tim said amicably, having noticed Conner’s presence as he drifted closer, despite the fact he had made no noise and that Tim was facing the other direction entirely. Tim’s voice gave no indication of _anything_ which meant that he was definitely feeling _something_ he wasn’t willing to share.

“Hi. Find anything?” Conner asked, getting straight to the point more for his own sake than anything. He ought to keep his mind preoccupied on the case. He touched down a little reluctantly, never really liking the idea of walking around in a crime scene. But he figured it would be rude to just float around.

“Not anything that can link us to whoever’s behind this yet,” Tim said. He pulled down his cowl, sure that it would be just the two of them. Conner got the feeling that Tim didn’t really like the thing either and that meant the long-awaited return of the domino mask would come sooner rather than later. Or so he hoped.

“Just point me in the right direction and maybe I can be of some use,” Conner said, arms outstretched and a big, stupid smile on his face like he was about to perform a magic trick. Tim gave him the _you’re-an-idiot-and-I-don’t-know-why-I-keep-you_ look before shaking his head and gesturing towards the stairs nearby. There was little else on the floor except a dining room that was used more for storage than holding family dinners, and a small kitchen with old appliances and a sliding door leading to the backyard.

“I’ve more-or-less cleared this floor already so we should head up and see if anything’s there.” Tim led the way and about halfway up the stairs he asked, “Was everything okay?”

“It wasn’t anything. A kid just broke his arm mattress surfing and his sister freaked out,” Conner told him. He wondered if Tim was going to ask him why it had taken him so long to get his ass over here then, but Tim just hummed, amused.

“Siblings tend to do that.” Tim made the comment absentmindedly and Conner gave a thought to Tim’s relationships with his own siblings. Tim was back on good terms with everyone which was very good thing indeed. The fewer stress factors he had in his life the better. He was even at peace with the more homicidal/fratricidal members of his family and that was nothing short of a miracle. Conner was glad he was pretty much an “only child,” with no one else around the farm to bug him. He considered both Clark and Kara his cousins (circumstances of his creation be damned!) and that title offered a type of distance that he was often grateful for, despite how _involved_ Clark could get sometimes.

“You’re right about that,” Conner decided, after recalling some of the moments where Clark had freaked out over his recklessness. Though he admitted that Clark’s presence would be welcome in regards to… certain things right now. If anything, Clark was just a really good listener and shoulder to cry on. Conner was determined to make him proud with this case. Even if he couldn’t save Jaqueline Farrows and the others, he’d put a stop to this madness.

The second level of the house was a lot more cramped due to the narrow hallways. That being said, the tradeoff seemed to be larger rooms which only made their job harder. “Obvious places first—let’s check the doctor’s bedroom,” Tim said. The room was directly at the other end of the hallway, past a few other rooms and a small linen closet. It was just as gloomy as the rest of the house, even though the curtains were sort of open.

“Lemme guess, I’m looking for like… a hidden diary or something?” Conner asked, scanning the room with his x-ray vision.

“Maybe. But most people these days favor encrypted documents over pen-and-paper, and the police have already taken Dr. Grange’s laptop—”

“Looks like the doc was old fashioned. Loose floorboard by the closet looks like it’s hiding something.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me….” Tim muttered, going over to the specified location. “Here?”

“Yup. It’s right under your foot. Police must’ve missed it.” Conner said.

“Not everyone has super-powered friends.” Tim pulled up the floorboard a little and reached in to find a leather-bound journal. “Wow, he really was old-fashioned.”

“Got anything?” Conner asked after Tim flipped through it for a few moments.

“Hmm. It’s really vague, but…,” Tim said, continuing to leaf through the pages, “there was _something_ going on. Crap. Looks like it’s as we feared.”

“What’s it say?”

“First of all, looks like the doctor was in the dark about a lot of things. He wrote here that his colleagues might be hiding something from him. In his earlier entries he sort of dismissed his own doubts, but then he kept having them, which led him to believe that something was definitely up. And then… well, he figured out the truth and in his last entry he wrote, ‘I can’t be a part of this anymore. I can’t stay quiet no matter what I fear may happen to me. They’re using science and medicine to bring harm to innocent, vulnerable people and I can’t sit idly by and let this happen. I don’t even know how long I can keep up my charade—pretending to go along with this lunacy. Something must be done. Someone has to bring light to this. It has to be me—I have no choice. I’ve lived long enough with this guilt and now it’s time to face the consequences. I should have done this sooner. My only hope is that Adrian will one day forgive me for ever being a part of this,’” Tim read aloud. He went quiet after that.

“He really was planning to come clean about it all.” Conner inferred that Adrian must’ve been that nephew he used to be close to. If the man was willing to risk his life to reveal the truth, then surely his nephew would understand. It was all the more reason to hurry up and take down the people responsible for it, so his nephew would know what happened.

“Yeah. This entry is dated just a day before Lois was supposed to interview him. And remember that little note that read ‘Alpramine?’ The handwriting is the exact same as in this journal, but the other note that read ‘it’s just too much’ is wildly different,” Tim said. He pulled out a plastic evidence bag and slipped the journal into it.

“So then… someone actually killed him and then wrote that fake suicide note in order to throw off suspicion?”

“Seems to be the case. Now we have to find out who killed him. According to the police report, the last call he received was from a blocked number.” Tim handed him the bag. “I’ll run it through our systems and see if I can’t trace it.”

“You can do that? Without the phone?”

“You’d be surprised what we can do,” Tim said cryptically. Conner decided not to think too hard about it and freak himself out. Thank the lord the Bats were the good guys. “Can you drop that off?”

“Uh, sure,” Conner said, flipping over the little journal in his hand. Dropping it off at the police station would give him a few extra minutes (if that) before having to return to the apartment, where the giant, neon-colored elephant was still undoubtedly hanging out. It wasn’t something they could easily sweep under the rug forever.

But for now they could.

So they parted ways and once Conner was in the air again, holding not his best friend but an evidence bag, he felt… almost _too light_. Like there wasn’t anything anchoring him down, tethering him safely to the earth. Like at any moment he could just float off into the emptiness of space where there was nothing waiting for him but loneliness and a broken heart.

 _Don’t think about it, don’t think about_ , he kept telling himself. All this idle flying and time to think wasn’t doing him any good. Thankfully, the police department wasn’t far from Dr. Grange’s house so it wasn’t long before he could forcibly switch his mind back into hero mode. Unfortunately, it took all of three minutes for him to drop off the evidence with the right person, who had asked fewer questions that Conner thought they ought to.

And just like that, he was idle again. Not for long, however, because his phone began ringing about halfway back to the apartment.

“Lois?” he answered, “Good thing you called. Turns out your hunch was right all along. I just dropped off—”

“Yeah, Tim just called and told me,” she said, followed by a small hum. “He sounded… really normal.”

“He’s good at that,” Conner sighed. _Too good._

“Clearly. So I take it that nothing happened?”

“Nothing at all.” He wasn’t exactly sure how that made him feel; whether it made him feel relieved, or like this was a sneak preview as to what their relationship would be like if this whole thing went south.

Conner was certain that he would explode if it was always this awkward between them. No doubt about it.

“It might not be a bad thing. Like I said, time to process is important and this is just that. So don’t freak out just yet,” Lois advised. Conner was eternally grateful for the wonder that was Lois Lane. Even if her advice was simple, it was reassuring in a way that put him at ease, if only for a moment.

“Thanks Lois. Again. For all this.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. You’ve all got hectic-as-all-hell lives, so I’m happy to ease as many burdens as I possibly can.”

“I really do appreciate it. You’ve got no idea.”

“Anytime, kid. Go on then—off to save the world, hm?”

“As always,” Conner said, followed by a goodbye. He figured he’d stalled enough (again) and set a straight course back to the penthouse.

Thankfully, it wasn’t as though Tim had waited up for him or anything. He was already fast at work, clickty-clacking away on his laptop, no doubt honing in on the perpetrators. He was still in his costume, though his boots had been discarded by the terrace doors. He didn’t even look up as Conner entered, his attention directed entirely to the task at hand. Tim was good at that—hyper-focusing onto a single thing and ruthlessly solving his way through it. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t also the best multi-tasker Conner knew because the number of people who could juggle all the things Tim did on a daily basis and still retain their sanity could all be counted on one hand.

Quite obviously, Tim didn’t really need another distraction, be it The Elephant or Conner himself, so Conner just sat down on the adjacent couch and didn’t say a word. He almost got the impression that Tim hadn’t noticed his presence until Tim looked up for a second and asked, “Did they give you any trouble?”

“Dude, I’m Superboy,” Conner reminded him. “Of course they didn’t give me any trouble.”

“I think I remember a time when they _did_ actually give you trouble. Lots of it.”

“That was before I got myself a giant statue in Centennial Park.” Conner immediately regretted bringing up any topic even remotely related to his death, knowing full well how badly Tim tended to react to any mentions of it. However, Tim just sort of smiled a little, blinked, and went back to his work. Conner couldn’t tell if he was just beyond the point where that still hurt him, or if he was just blocking his emotions away as a coping mechanism.

The harder Conner thought about it, the more he realized just how many issues they had to work through. But maybe it was really just best to work through them all one-by-one, starting with the biggest ones first…. Luckily, Conner wasn’t left to his idle thoughts for very long. No more than a few minutes later, Tim had more-or-less found what they had been looking for.

“So,” he began, drawing Conner’s attention to more pressing and immediate matters, “It looks like Dr. Grange was part of a five-man group that oversaw a number of other smaller groups, each involved in their own separate projects. The five of them are pretty influential in the company overall, especially when they combine their efforts, since it seems like it works based off a majority vote system. There’s not that many people who can overrule them apart from the Board of Directors, but considering how they’ll be satisfied as long as their profits remain well in the black, it’s not unreasonable to think that the activities of this five-man group generally goes largely unregulated.”

“It sounds sort of risky to polarize power like that. I mean, five is better than one, but it’s still a small number.”

“And considering how there’s now an evil meta-killing drug out on the market a result, I’d say Jupiter Inc. needs to take a good, close look at their business model.”

“Something tells me we’re about to pay them a visit and tell them just that,” Conner said, recognizing the look on Tim’s face. It was infiltration time again. In his younger days he never really had the head or patience for things like that, since busting through the main door in style always seemed to serve his purposes well enough. But after joining Tim in his various stealth missions, he began to see the usefulness of skulking, despite not being all that good at it. Though it probably wasn’t fair to compare himself to Tim or any of the other Bats, who made the look so damn easy. At least compared to his younger self, he had come a long way. Now he could actually accomplish a mission without alerting every single bad guy in the building or blowing half of said building up when things got dicey.

“A gentle suggestion might help,” Tim confirmed, placing his laptop back onto the table. “We won’t have to wait long for nightfall.”

The sun was already low in the sky, creeping towards the horizon at a steady state. In just a few minutes, it would be dark enough for them to bust into Jupiter Inc.’s corporate headquarters. With a bit of luck, they’d wrap up this case before day’s end. Conner wondered where the entire day had gone, since they hadn’t done much other than visit Aaron Winters and snoop around Dr. Grange’s house. But such was the nature of autumn, and a few weeks from now the days would be even shorter.

 

The waiting time was less painful but also less productive than Conner would have liked. They both waited in relative silence, which was unusual. They always had something to talk about, even when they actually didn’t, and the silence between them now felt like a bad omen or something. It was better than Tim bringing up the issue of Conner’s more-than-strictly-platonic feelings towards him followed by sheer rejection, but he didn’t know what to make of the fact that Tim seemed perfectly okay with not talking about it. Did it mean that Tim hadn’t actually realized anything? Or did it mean that he _had_ and just decided that it wasn’t important enough to revisit? Or did it mean that he was also afraid of repercussions, in which case: _what the hell did that all mean_?

Conner was like one billion percent sure that his head was going to explode any second now if he kept this up. Why couldn’t he just shelf it? At least until a later date? Why did everything seem to loop around back to his stupid love-life problems? God, why, why, _why_ did he have to fall totally in love with his best friend?

So far, he had managed to waste his time rummaging through the penthouse’s well-stocked fridge and pantry and forcing Tim to eat something or another. Miraculously, he’d accepted Conner’s gift of fruit thins. It was too early for dinner and too late to eat anything substantial. Fighting on a full stomach was never a good idea. Though it was just routine infiltration, Tim had a bad feeling about it tonight, given how well-trained the security guards at the other building had been.

They’d gone over exactly what the plan was, after pinning down those five people. Or rather, four, since they had yet to replace Dr. Grange. However, one had been on vacation in Barbados for the last two weeks visiting his ill mother, while another was on sick leave (which Tim ruled out as genuine after peeking at the woman’s medical file at Metropolis General that said she’d come down with a nasty viral infection). That left two of the remaining four scientists to interrogate and they were both working overtime tonight. The plan stretched little further than interrogation at the (probable) scene of the crime and somehow forcing them to confess to the horror that was Alpramine.

“I’ve got the schematics for the building, camera feeds, guard timings, the whole nine yards. But be prepared for anything,” Tim said once they were out on the terrace again. “The plan’s pretty simple: corner the two of them, preferably at the same place, and interrogate them. Both Dr. George Wilkins and Dr. Lucas Costa—those are their names, don’t forget—have offices on the fifteenth floor, albeit on opposite sides. If we can’t corral them in one place, then we’ll have to question them individually.”

“Okay,” Conner said, running it through his head once more. He could handle solo-interrogations fine, but he really did lack the finesse that Tim had. With luck, they wouldn’t have to split up, though it was impossible to predict what could happen.

“We probably won’t have much time, so we need to be in and out as quick as possible,” Tim said, pulling on his cowl.

“Then let’s get going.” Conner picked him up, stowing all this feelings away in a neat little box as he forced himself back into superhero mode. A wrist clasp was still out of the question, even if he could manage to extend his TTK around Tim like a harness. He could still potentially hurt Tim (not that he’d ever say anything aloud, which made it that much worse) and no matter how weird the atmosphere between them was right now, nothing was worth the risk.

Tim didn’t say anything pretty much the entire way there. They flew in silence until he said “It’s cold tonight,” and Conner wondered for a moment if it was more than just a comment on the weather.

“Yeah, it is,” was all he could manage in response, all the while wishing for at least temporary mind-reading abilities, regardless of how intrusive that may be.

Jupiter Inc.’s headquarters was smack-dab in the middle of the Wonderland District so the flight wasn’t too long. Because Tim’s plan included him disabling the alarms in the building, they dropped down to the side of the skyscraper where the security station was located.

“You’d think they’d be better about security,” Tim muttered after Conner safely knocked the two guards on duty unconscious.

“Because they’re up to some shady things?”

“No, just in general.”

“I feel bad taking out these guys. They’re just doing their job like all the rest. To have to face the upcoming media nightmare is going to _suck_ for everyone who’s got no idea what’s going on,” Conner said. He wondered how likely it was that the CEO and board members knew what was going on. If they did know, they deserved every bit of backlash they were about to get, though their low-level employees, who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, sure didn’t deserve possibly losing their jobs.

“A necessary sacrifice,” Tim said. “They won’t be able to keep their stock from plummeting or keep their investors from jumping ship—never mind all the lawsuits—but in time they’ll recover. If Wilkins and Costa confess, then the company can claim plausible deniability at least.”

“What are the chances that the higher-ups knew about this?”

“Low. The health of their bank accounts depends on steady demand for their products, along with consumer trust to ensure the former. They wouldn’t take such an insane risk like this out of blind hatred. But even if _one_ of them did, there’s too many people to shut them down—certainly more than just four other colleagues.”

“Let’s hope they—and everyone else—learn from this.”

“Let’s hope.”

Breaking into the security station was like child’s play for Tim and disabling the alarms was even easier. “There. Now even if we happen to force our way into any restricted areas, we won’t trip any alarms—silent or otherwise.”

“So we just have to worry about being seen, right?”

“Yeah. Keep a low profile. Since the building’s mostly empty right now, that shouldn’t be too hard.” It always sounded so easy when Tim said it, but Conner still hadn’t mastered the art of stealth. He was probably a lost cause, but that didn’t mean that Tim ever gave up on him.

There was a door on the other side of the security station that led to a small passage, which then led into a larger hallway inside the Jupiter Inc. building. Like the other one that they had visited, only the maintenance lights were on, dimly showing the way to an elevator.

“These guys turn off their lights pretty early,” Conner said once they were inside. It felt a little weird to be taking an elevator in full costume, like a joke from an action movie. But it would be weirder to take the stairs for fifteen floors when the elevator was functioning.

“They’re pretty eco-friendly.”

“Not very _meta-_ friendly.”

“Hopefully, that’s not company policy.” Conner was so busy wondering about the rationale behind a meta-murdering drug that he almost didn’t feel awkward trapped in a small, confined space with Tim and The Elephant. (Conner almost wanted to name it—maybe Frankie or Hilda.) They ascended pretty quickly though, so it didn’t take long before they got to the fifteenth floor.

Conner had expected the place to look like any other office building with a bullpen and desks, but since Jupiter Inc. _was_ a science-based company, the floor was laid out more like an open lab with offices at the end of the floor. The white countertops of the tables were darkened by the lack of lighting and the silhouettes of some of the lab equipment looked a bit unsettling, actually.

“This place would be a lot let less creepy if there was like, I dunno, a lone lab tech working overtime or something,” Conner whispered. Tim shushed him just before they heard a rustling from behind a nearby desk. “Oops.”

“Remember when I said _low profile_?” Tim hissed at him.

“Too late now, isn’t it?” Conner shrugged. Tim shook his head with a sigh and cleared his throat.

“You can come out, you know. We’re the good guys,” he said in a commanding but (somehow) friendly tone. Everything remained still for a few moments until there was some more rustling. A woman peeked up from behind the counter but she was too scared to come out into the open.

“I-I’ve already called security!” she squeaked, probably wondering if she could just hide behind that counter indefinitely.

“Great. Just what we need,” Tim muttered.

“L-Listen, we really _are_ the good guys—just take a look! Got a giant S on my shirt, so that’s gotta’ mean something, right?” Conner tried. It seemed to work since the woman slowly stood up, but clutched the neck of a microscope next to her. If she was planning to hurl it at them, it would probably just be a waste of expensive equipment. Conner didn’t tell her that, however, not wanting to risk scaring her further.

“Wait…. Are you Superboy?” she started, though her grip on the microscope didn’t loosen. Though the lighting was dim, it was enough to make out her appearance. Her curly brown hair was tied back messily with stray locks falling on her pale face. She had on a lab coat, meaning that she worked here. Was it possible that she knew anything about Alpramine?

“Yes! That’s me! And my friend here is Red Robin. You’ve probably heard of him—you know, Teen Titans and all,” Conner introduced enthusiastically. Funnily enough, Tim actually waved at her.

“Is it customary for young ‘superheroes’ to break into private facilities after-hours?” The fear from her voice had faded a little, only to be replaced by annoyance.

“Would you rather have us break in during working hours?” Tim asked dryly.

“I, uh, we’re here on important business,” Conner quickly interjected. Tim was getting impatient and rightly so. If this woman had called security, they would be here any second. There wasn’t much time left. “What’s your name?”

“Carrie,” the woman answered, finally letting go of the microscope.

“Listen, Carrie, is there any way you could call off security? We’re here to uh, talk to some people. That’s all,” Conner told her.

“I pressed the panic button. There’s not really any way to _un-_ press it,” Carrie said nervously, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tim told her. “But you need to get out of here _now_ , Carrie. If security arrives and we can’t explain the situation to them, it might get ugly and we wouldn’t want you getting caught up in the middle of it.”

“I…. Okay, you’re right,” she said, the fear returning to her voice. She took off towards the stairs (was she really going to take them all down back to the ground floor?) but before she made it to the door, it burst open. With a shriek, she fell back as security guards in familiar-looking uniforms piled in. The elevator behind them let out a little ding as its doors opened to reveal several more security guards inside.

“I think they exceed the weight limit for that, don’t you?” Conner asked, ready to fight them off if need be.

“I’m not sure elevator safety is a priority for them,” Tim said. He already had his Bo staff in his hand. A good thing, too, since the guards didn’t wait to be lectured and decided instead to simply rush forward at them.

“Look, this is all a misunderstanding!” Conner tried as the first wave of guards tried to subdue him. They didn’t seem very keen on listening. Normally Conner would have had no problem dispatching a bunch of guards, but these were the same guards that had given them trouble back at the other Jupiter Inc. building.

“Maybe other companies should look into whatever place Jupiter Inc. gets their guards from,” Tim yelled over the fighting.

“Why? So our jobs are harder than they already are?” It was really the last thing they needed. Conner stuck close to Tim, trying to defend him as much as possible without getting in his way or being overprotective.

“Listen, we don’t have time for this—we need to split up,” Tim said once they got the security force down to the last few men. He said it quietly, so only Conner could hear. “There’s obviously going to be reinforcements piling in any minute and if either of the suspects see the commotion, they might run.”

“Then let’s go.”

“You go left, I go right,” Tim told him as he dove over a counter after aerial-kicking a guard in the face. “Now!”

Conner took off towards his specified hallway at the other end of the floor, drawing off some of the guards. They followed him, shouting for him to stop, but he made quick work of them once they were within the narrow confines of the long hallway. “Sorry,” he whispered once they were knocked safely unconscious. He hoped this wouldn’t reflect too badly on him and Tim once the cops showed up, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

The doors that lined the hallway were wooden with frosted windows. There were helpful bronze nameplates that Conner used to locate the office belonging to Dr. George Wilkins. It was near the end of the hallway, so maybe the scientist hadn’t heard the all the fighting out by the lab. They had tried their best to keep it quiet, after all, but you couldn’t really be _that_ quiet when you were mowing down a horde of overly-trained and well-coordinated security guards. However, like all the other rooms, Dr. Wilkins’ seemed darkened inside. An x-ray scan revealed that it was empty, but the door was unlocked so Conner went inside anyway. After closing the door behind him and stepping towards the desk, he called out, “Hello? Dr. Wilkins?”

No one answered, but Conner wondered why the room would be left unlocked. Especially considering the fact that Dr. Wilkins had something big to hide. “Anyone there? I just want to talk,” Conner tried again, but to no avail. Oh well—he might as well take a look around to see if he could find anything and hope that Tim had better luck on his end.

He went towards the desk to look for files or anything of value when he heard something to the side shift or—PAIN.

Pain—there was pain _everywhere—_ so sudden and so severe that it brought Conner to his knees in mere seconds. He was on fire from the inside, as if his blood was literally boiling. As if someone had mainlined poison right into his bloodstream and like every cell in his body was dying. He couldn’t speak, cry out, or even breathe, and his vision was getting blurry. He fell onto his side and curled up, knowing that only one thing could do this.

The telltale green glow filled his vision from over by the wall. A bookshelf—how cliché—had moved aside to reveal a man holding the rock in a gloved hand. He stepped forward from the (probably lead-lined) room he’d been waiting in.

“I knew you would come, Superboy,” the man said. The closer he stepped towards Conner, the more excruciating the pain became. “It’s an _honor_ to meet you. I’m glad introductions aren’t necessary—seeing how you already know who I am.”

“What are you—argh—doing?” Conner managed to ask, trying his best to push himself away, to put as much distance between him and the kryptonite as possible.

“Well, obviously subduing you with the one thing you’re vulnerable to,” Wilkins said as if talking to a child. It was annoying, but if Wilkins thought that kryptonite was the only thing that could hurt a Super, then he didn’t know as much about Kryptonian physiology as he probably thought he did. Not that Conner was about to enlighten him or anything. “Don’t worry—I don’t intend to kill you, though I’ve been told that this little rock might be able to do just that.”

“Who told you that?” Conner more-or-less coughed out.

“A very influential man who has a strong distrust for your kind. He’s helped me and my colleagues for several years now. Our efforts would have never been realized were it not for him! He even ensured that the company had the best security money could buy—though it seems they were no match for the likes of you, hm?” Conner had decided several sentences ago that this guy was seriously crazy. The patronizing tone didn’t help his opinion. He also figured that the benefactor’s name that Wilkins was talking about probably started with ‘Lex’ and ended with ‘Luthor.’

“Alpramine,” Conner spat out, wishing this madman would get on with it already. “What is the point of Alpramine?”

“Ah, yes. Our secret little project. Several birds with one stone—quite ingenious really. It really _is_ a fantastic antidepressant, you know. Does exactly what it’s supposed to do… for humans. That’s how we got past trials. Using known non-metas meant that the drug would do nothing more than its primary purpose.”

“Metas are human,” Conner growled, feeling his energy slowly being stripped away by the kryptonite. Though Wilkins hadn’t moved any closer, the effects were gradually getting worse anyway, just due to exposure.

“No they’re not,” Wilkins spat back at him. “They’re a perversion of nature; a disease of humanity meant to be eradicated. And I know what you’ll ask: who am I to decide? Well, I’ll tell you. I’m one of the few people standing between innocent humans and those monsters. If we don’t strike now, then it may be too late for all of us.”

“Those people who were killed—they weren’t even metas!”

“Not _yet_. But they might’ve been. Today, tomorrow, who can tell? Alpramine simply turned them into the monsters they would have inevitably become. You see, the plan was perfect. If they had metagenes—active or not—then we’d be able to capture them when they eventually went to seek help. If not, they would die from the effects of the drug anyway. The heart can only take so much, and unfortunately, many died too quickly. The drug was designed to work only after several months. If it worked immediately, then it would be too easy it trace, wouldn’t it? The only real downside besides the loss of possible subjects is the collateral. But based on the subjects we did manage to capture, the risks were worth it. They’ve all proved very… _enlightening_.”

“How many… subjects?” Conner asked, trying to push himself up so he didn’t seem so weak and pathetic. It was almost hilarious that this guy was monologuing and usually, that was a good thing. It meant they were distracted by their own delusions, making them easier to surprise, trick, or just take out. But in this case, it wasn’t such a good thing especially since Wilkins had decided to monologue with that stupid green rock still in his hand.

“Enough to jump our understanding of metas forward several years. You, however, are a very nice consolation to make up for all those lost subjects. Superman might’ve been a greater prize, but why not the next best thing? In fact, after receiving some information from my benefactor on you, I daresay you’d be an even better subject, Superboy! You’re somewhere between meta and alien—a two-for-one!” Wilkins sounded way too happy about that and it made Conner want to throw up. But that could also be due to kryptonite overexposure.

He wasn’t sure how long he had before the effects went lethal. It was a pretty big rock and Wilkins was standing pretty close. It was all really ironic, to be honest. He’d been so worried about Tim’s safety over the last few days but now it was _his_ life that was in danger. He was also trying hard to ignore the fact that this guy intended to do some horrible experiments on him. Though over the years, that threat had begun to get old.

 “Why do you hate metas?” Conner asked, somehow mustering up enough strength despite being very aware that he was literally dying. He had to find some way out of this. Even if that meant rolling out of an open window, he had to get away from the kryptonite.

“Let me tell you a story, Superboy,” Wilkins started.

 _What the hell have you been doing for the last five minutes?_ Conner wondered to himself. But here it came—the sob story that was supposed to garner pity or empathy or something.

“I once had a son. Wonderful, intelligent, full of passion, and a bright future ahead of him. He had this friend, Adam, you see. The two of them were inseparable. You know how it goes. But Adam was a meta. He had the ability to paralyze people by touch and one day he and my son got into an argument. Do you know what happened? Adam paralyzed him ‘by accident’ and by the time I got him to the hospital, it was too late. His lungs and heart were paralyzed. He died in my arms and there was nothing I could do. No justice was ever sought for my son.” Conner almost wanted to sympathize with him. Losing a kid—well, that might just be enough to build up a whole lot of prejudice against someone, even if it wasn’t right.

“You—argh—said it was—” It was getting harder and harder to breathe and Wilkin’s face was little more than a blur with graying-brown hair. “An accident.”

“It’s _always_ an accident isn’t it? No one understands, no one! One accident leads to another, and so on. How many ‘innocent’ metas have turned out evil? How many of them now threaten our loved ones or our very existence? Even Grange didn’t understand once he realized the truth—and I assume you’ve uncovered what’s happened to him, haven’t you? It’s surprisingly easy to have troublesome people taken out of the picture when you have someone with influence on your side. Something changed for him—not that I particularly care what that was—and he was determined that what we were doing was wrong. He didn’t see the big picture. I should’ve known that coward would get cold feet. He was pathetic.” Wilkins was in full-blown insane rant mode and showed no signs of stopping. At this rate, Conner would be dead before the man even realized it.

“He wasn’t pathetic. He was trying to do the right thing,” Conner cried. He’d make sure Dr. Harold Grange got the recognition he deserved for trying to reveal to the world the truth of Alpramine. Most of all, he’d make sure Grange’s nephew knew what happened.

“Ha! The ‘right thing’ is far beyond your understanding. A sacrifice must be made to ensure the survival and purity of humanity. Someone has to stand between the order of mankind and the chaos that metas leave in their wake. Someone has to—”

Wilkins suddenly fell to the floor with a thud and the kryptonite flew out of his hand. Unfortunately, it landed right next to Conner who let out a loud cry at the intense increase in pain (which he didn’t know could get worse). “I’m so tired of megalomaniacs who think they’re the protectors of humanity,” Tim muttered.

“Ugh,” Conner groaned, his eyes screwed shut and trying his best to hold himself together even though he was pretty sure he was about to dissolve into a puddle. Just when he began wishing that he _would_ so that it would all be over, a sudden wave of relief washed over him and the green glow disappeared as he heard a soft click. He took a gasp of air and opened his eyes to see Tim kneeling next to him, a little lead box in his hand. Tim slipped it into one of his belt pockets and stood up.

“Gimme a second, Kon,” he said, going back over to an unconscious Dr. Wilkins. He hauled the deranged scientist up and tried his hands to one of the legs of the desk. “There. The police are on their way. They can pick up both Wilkins and Costa.”

“What happened?” Conner asked, swallowing hard. There was still a great amout of pain that had yet to wear off, but at least he didn’t feel like he was dying anymore.

“I took out the rest of the guards and found Costa. Didn’t take much to make him give up all his dirty little secrets since he was so freaked out. Then he tried to run, tripped, and knocked himself silly. So I tied him up and found a secret hallway leading to this room here, where Wilkins was monologuing and trying to kill you with kryptonite. Then I saved you.” Tim sounded rightfully smug as he pulled down his cowl, secure in the knowledge that there were no cameras in the room.

“Actually, he was planning on whisking me away to some lab somewhere so he could experiment on me,” Conner told him. Then he asked, “Are you okay?”

“You’re the one lying on the floor, Kon.”

“I know, but what about _you_?”

“Nothing more than a few bruises. Other than that, I’m unscathed. Are you going to be okay? How long were you exposed?” The concern in his voice was evident.

“I don’t know. But I’m not dead, so that’s a good sign. I think I just need to lay here for a while,” Conner said honestly. “Damn am I glad you came when you did. I would’ve died from kryptonite poisoning by the time that asshole got me to any weird torture-chamber-slash-lab place.”

“Costa told me where said torture-chamber-slash-lab is. Already forwarded the address to the police.” He placed a hand on Conner’s shoulder. “So I would’ve saved you anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.” Conner closed his eyes and wished that he’d hurry up and feel better, but the sun wasn’t up anymore so the process was a lot slower than he would’ve liked. Though at least his heart rate had been returning to normal. _Had_ being the operative word here, since Tim had decided to run his gloved hand through Conner’s hair. Conner didn’t know what force possessed him to do that but he was going to send that force a bouquet and a gift basket.

“Your communicator has a distress button. Why didn’t you use it?” Tim asked after a few (blissful) moments.

“I knew you were going to ask that,” Conner sighed, opening his eyes again.

“And?”

“ _And_ I figured that you probably had your hands full anyway.”

“There’s not much that can hurt you Kon, but those that can are prone to _kill you_.” The strain in his voice was all too familiar.

“Technically, that’s true for like everyone. But, yeah, I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll hit that button the moment I feel kryptonite in the vicinity, I promise,” Conner said to assure him.

“How about a double promise? You promise that, and I promise to be less reckless.” Tim had already said he’d be more careful back in the apartment, but it was nice to hear it again. It was reassuring in a way that was hard to explain.

“It’s a deal.” Conner managed to sit up at last. He still hurt a little all over, but he was nearly recovered enough for them to get out of there soon.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment and Tim was the first to look away, a bashful smile on his face. Conner didn’t know whether it was the first time he’d seen that, or if it was the first time it really meant something. Maybe it was the kryptonite, or maybe it was his own brain tired of all their dancing around, but he decided that if he was going to take a shot at what he’d wanted for so long now, this was the moment to do it.

“You’re the most important person in my life,” he began. Tim looked at him with wide eyes, caught off guard by the sudden admission. “You’ve been there for me in my darkest moments and I wish, _I wish_ I had been there for yours. I’m so sorry I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, how terrible of you to die saving the world,” Tim said, his voice heavy. “I could never be upset with you for that. In fact, I was so… so _proud_. But it hurt so much to lose you that there were days I didn’t know how or if I could go on—and now I understand. I don’t ever want to put you through that. The truth is, you’re the most important person in my life, too.”

There was no need for words after that, and they both knew it. Tim rested his forehead against Conner’s as their hands found each other’s. Then, just like that, The Elephant disappeared back to whatever land it came from and the two of them were blessedly alone at last.

Though not really, considering how there was an unconscious mad scientist tied to a desk behind them. Also, when he reached out with his superhearing, Conner heard the high wail of police sirens drawing steadily closer. “Cops are almost here,” he said.

“We might have some explaining to do,” Tim sighed.

“We can’t just fly the scene?”

“That would be a bad idea. Besides, we might as well tie up loose ends. Then we can focus on… other things.”

“Other things?” Conner asked, floating to his feet and helping Tim up at the same time. Tim just smirked at him as he pulled on his cowl. They both knew what those other things were and now it was just a matter of time before everything was laid out in plain words.

 

It took a half an hour and some frustration, but they eventually succeeded in explaining what exactly happened at Jupiter Inc. to the cops, all the way from how Alpramine made it past trials to the assassination of Dr. Grange, and everything in between. Two officers rounded up Wilkins and Costa who had both regained conscious, along with much of the security guards. Then, one informative phone call to Lois later, Conner and Tim decided that the case was pretty much behind them. The story would likely be on the front page tomorrow, and Lois ensured that Dr. Grange would get the credit that was due to him. The fate of Jupiter Inc. and all the rest was now left to the proper authorities.

The two of them could finally get on their way.

“A case report withstanding, it’s over,” Tim said once they were in the air. His cowl was down again and his eyes glistened in the darkness.

“And hopefully, justice will be served in honor of all those people who died because of this.” At last, Conner’s mind was at ease as far as this case was concerned. Jacqueline Farrows and the others could rest in peace at last.

“It will be,” Tim assured him. “Clark would be proud. I know I am.”

“Really?” Conner bravely held Tim a little closer than usual.

“Of course. I’m always proud of you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Conner said with a smile. He resisted the urge to do something stupid and instead just swallowed hard once he realized how close their faces were.

Tim seemed to realize it at about the same time too, but his reaction was unexpected. He suddenly laughed, as if remembering something funny. “Oh my god.”

“W-What?” Conner asked nervously, trying his best not to waver in his flight. Instead, it was his voice that wavered and cracked embarrassingly.

“You _were_ jealous.” Tim continued to laugh as Conner became completely and utterly mortified. “What the hell did you have to be jealous of?”

“You just seemed to have so much in common with that guy!” Conner was very aware that he was blushing so much that it was evident with just the moonlight above. He had hoped that the whole Aaron Winters business had been buried along with everything else to do with this case. “It seemed like a good match. I was afraid that—”

“You have _nothing_ to be afraid of,” Tim promised him in a soft voice.

“I know, I’m an idiot. I just…. I don’t know.”

“Did it slip your mind that we have a lot in common too? And more than just that?” Tim put his hand on Conner’s cheek—and wow did that make his heart race like he’d just stopped a meteor from crashing into the planet.

“I just didn’t know if you ever wanted… something else,” he decided to say after not being able to think up of an adequate response.

“You mean… something _more_?”

“Yeah, something more.”

“I-I do want more,” Tim admitted, biting his lip. Conner’s heart did a backflip at that and he wanted to cheer into the heavens while flying all the way to Mars, and even though he held it all in—for now—he couldn’t hold back his grin. “O-Only if that’s what you really want!”

“Tim, you have no idea how much I want that,” Conner said earnestly. “And I’ve wanted it for a long time now, to be honest. I don’t know when exactly, but I just figured I never had much of a chance.”

“What? Conner, I almost sold my soul for you. What on earth would make you think that you didn’t have a chance?” It hadn’t even been the fact that they were both guys—no, they both knew how much of a non-issue it was for each other. It was the sort of thing you eventually revealed to your best friend, and that talk had happened some time ago. It was safe to say that such a thing was not the problem.

“Just my own stupid fears,” Conner said with a sigh. “I should’ve told you sooner. I was… afraid that you’d figured it out—back at the apartment, I mean.”

“It was obvious that something wasn’t right, but I guess my own stupid fears got in the way, too. I talked myself out of it.” Tim shrugged. “We’re a pair of idiots, aren’t we?”

“Then we really are perfect for each other.” They reached the terrace and Conner set Tim down, but they stayed close as they entered the apartment, bumping shoulders and brushing against each other.

“So,” Conner started a little awkwardly as Tim slipped off his belt and bandoliers along with his gloves, cape, and boots in the darkness. “Does this mean we’re like… together?”

Tim chuckled, stepping over his stuff and closer to Conner. “After all that? We’d better be.”

“Holy shit,” Conner breathed, awestruck at the notion that just like that, everything had changed. He couldn’t quite get his head around the suddenness of it. This was probably the best day of his life so far—not only had he closed the case he’d stressed so much over, but he’d admitted his feelings and found that Tim had reciprocated. Maybe Ma, Bart, and Lois had all been right. Maybe Conner had nothing to fear after all and the only thing that had stood in his way was, well, himself. He wished that he’d done it sooner and lamented the time that they must’ve lost already, but he was determined not to lose a single second more. “I never thought that I could really have this—have _you_.”

“You’ve already had me for a while, Kon. All you had to do was ask,” Tim told him. He was close enough for a hug, so Conner did just that. He wrapped his arms around Tim’s smaller frame and held him as close as he could without hurting him. Given his excitement, it was harder than it looked. A part of him was amazed that he wasn’t floating a foot off the ground or something, but then again, they _had_ already been flying just minutes ago.

“‘Ask and you shall receive,’ huh?” he asked once they pulled away. They were still holding onto each other though, and he had a feeling that it would be a recurring thing for the rest of the night, at least.

“Pretty much.”

“Then I have one request,” Conner said. He cleared his throat and said the words that he’d practiced in his head a million times, all under the assumption that he’d never get to say them aloud to Tim. “May I kiss you?”

“Given your excellent grammar?” Tim chuckled with a grin on his face that mirrored Conner’s. “Yes, you may.”

Not a moment was lost after that. Conner leaned forward and captured Tim’s lips with his own at long last, pulling him close once again like he was never going to let him go. Tim gave as good as he got, clearly determined to eliminate any space between them. They fit so perfectly together that it was hard to believe it had taken them this long for it to happen. Conner didn’t know who or what to thank, but he was so grateful that it had happened at all.

It was like there were fireworks going off in his head, awakening something deep in his chest that blossomed into passion and arousal. It somehow numbed his senses so that the only thing he could focus on was the feel of Tim pressed up against him. The kiss was a little messy and desperate from the sudden burst of pent-up feelings for each other that they had repressed for way too long. But all of that just made it even sweeter, if anything.

Just when he was certain it really couldn’t get any better than this, Tim moaned softly and Conner swallowed it down while his brain exploded inside of his skull because of the white-hot desire flowing through his veins. It began to curl low in his stomach as he let his hands wander and explore the marvel that was Tim’s perfectly toned body. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he felt so turned on by just a kiss, apart from some of his very first ones after he had escaped the tube Cadmus. At this rate….

They pulled away after a while and Conner took a moment to catch his breath. Sure he was superhuman, but there were still things that could wind him—like the best kiss of his life with the guy he’d been totally head over heels for. And _man_ did Tim know how to kiss. He was good at everything and this was no exception. Since there were already bouquets and gift baskets which were owed, a thank-you note to whoever taught him how to kiss _like that_ might be due.

“Whoa,” Conner breathed after a minute. He still couldn’t stop smiling and he wondered for a second if his face would get stuck that way like Ma would often tell him.

“Whoa,” Tim confirmed, intertwining their fingers. “That was better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

“Ditto.”

They just looked at each other for a while, both unsure of what to say but certain of one thing: sometimes, your wishes _did_ come true. Sometimes, things _do_ work out. And sometimes, you got to make out with your best friend in a fancy penthouse in the dark, with the lights of the city shining below and the lights of the stars twinkling above.

“There’s a lot we still have to talk about,” Tim said. That much was true. This wasn’t the type of relationship Conner wanted to play by ear. He wanted to do it right, and he had just learned the importance of clear communication. That being said, he didn’t see the urgency. They had plenty of time and the night was still young.

“You’re right. But we can talk over dinner, can’t we? I think I’d just like to make out for a while longer, if you don’t mind.” Tim laughed at Conner’s honesty and cupped his cheek affectionately.       

“I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envy and am in awe of people with regular update schedules.
> 
> Once again, sorry for the long wait! It's about a month later than I though it would be. Despite this chapter being the most planned-out, it was the hardest to write. I hope everyone's at least happy with the end, though! ;D You deserve a little something after that horrible cliffhanger last chapter....
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read this, commented, subscribed, bookmarked, and/or left kudos! Your support is invaluable and makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
> 
> Stay tuned for the last chapter/epilogue!


	7. A New Beginning

Their second kiss had a lot more finesse and technique to it. But that felt like a huge accomplishment because even though they were now a _thing_ and they needn’t rush, Conner was still mind blown by the fact that he had the chance to kiss Tim at all. It was like a blessing or all that uncashed karma finally being returned by the universe.

Whatever it was, it was better than anything he had imagined.

Regardless of how soft and almost tentative it had started, the kiss progressed into something passionate and deep. It seemed that Tim was just fine skipping the basics and diving right into the good stuff. So Conner gave up trying to hold back his feelings and just _went_ for it. He still wasn’t sure where exactly to put his hands, so he settled for _everywhere_ and continued to shamelessly grope his new boyfriend. And it seemed that Tim was totally okay with it judging by the soft, encouraging little noises he made every now and then.

They eventually broke away for air, both of them dizzy with a flurry of emotions. But Conner wasn’t done kissing—not yet. He moved his mouth downwards, undoing the zip of Tim’s costume with TTK and pushing away the fabric to reveal soft, pale skin. He kissed the scar at the hollow of Tim’s neck, sucking at it a little and eliciting a soft moan in response. He couldn’t go further down than that, since the path was blocked by the t-shirt underneath and Conner wasn’t sure if he had permission to, like, _undress_ Tim quite yet. He didn’t want to push his luck so he made do with the small expanse of skin that was currently available to him.

“Help me out of this,” Tim whispered after a while, starting to shrug off his costume. Conner tried very hard not to just tear it off of him in an aroused frenzy and was instead as careful as possible, aware that Tim’s arm wasn’t fully healed yet and that he’d gotten a few new bruises tonight. Once it was off, Conner whisked it away to the nearby dining table.

“As great as your new costume is, I think I like this better.” Tim chuckled at that and Conner felt it resonate. He pressed another kiss to Tim’s exposed neck and slipped his hand under the hem of the t-shirt. He slowly inched his hand upwards, feeling warm skin that was somehow so different from his own. Tim was _human_ and vulnerable under his touch and if Conner tried just a little, he could feel the way the blood rushed though Tim’s soft lips. If anyone ever asked, Conner knew it would be impossible to describe the effect it had on him. It was incredible, euphoric, and about a million other things all at once, but how much of it was attributed to the fact that he was kissing _Tim_ over anything else wasn’t clear. Not that anything was really clear right now.

It was getting harder and harder to think straight. Everything was going hazy with lust. There were so many feelings that they had both repressed for god knows how long, and with each kiss they revealed those little secrets to each other, one by one. Conner wasn’t holding anything back and apparently neither was Tim, judging by how _into_ it he was. Tim was always super focused at the task at hand, regardless of what it may be. The current task for him seemed to be sucking at Conner’s toungue and lips in the most incredible way, and Conner was never more grateful for Tim’s perfectionism.

They went on like that for several minutes, just kissing each other and letting their touches wander, exploring each other’s bodies in ways they should’ve done long ago. It felt like ages—though still not long enough—before Tim broke away for air. Tim blinked hard and looked at Conner with an expression that was part confusion and part amusement.

“What?” Conner asked, feeling something like lightheadedness from all that kissing.

“Is it just my imagination or are we floating?” Conner pulled back a little and looked down. It was definitely not just Tim’s imagination, judging by how the floor was about a foot further away than he last remembered.

“Oops. Yeah that’s happened once or twice.” No wonder he’d felt as light as a feather—he’d lost track of… well, gravity. He brought them back down slowly while Tim hummed amusedly.

“Only once or twice?” Conner loved the delight in Tim’s voice, though he was sure that there would be a week’s worth of teasing to follow.

“Shush.”

“Well, while you reacquaint yourself with gravity, I think I’ll take a quick shower,” Tim said, picking up the loose articles of his costume.

“A shower? All by yourself?” Tim actually _blushed_ and Conner could see it even in the dark. It made him grin like a madman and he just barely held in his laugh.

“Nice try,” Tim managed after he recovered. “Stay put.”

“Maybe next time, then.” Tim only smirked in response before vanishing down the hallway. Conner waited until he heard the door to the bedroom close before fistpumping and deciding that today was the best day ever. Not only had they _saved the day_ from a dastardly villian, but they’d finally figured out where they stood in regards to, well, each other. They were finally together.

Conner flicked on the lights and sort of just stood there, basking in his own happiness and satisfaction for a while. He couldn’t stop grinning and for a second there it felt like he’d gone crazy with joy. It was a warm, bubbly feeling that enveloped him from head to toe and nothing could bring him down—not even if Bizzaro were to come smashing through the windows. Eventually he figured that he should probably take a shower too, since he smelled vaguely of evil schemes and sweat. But it was hard to walk when you felt like everything was finally in place, so instead he floated back to his room.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this euphoric but he was determined just to ride it out for as long as he could. He’d learned long ago to live in the moment because that’s all you ever really had control over. Everybody had problems, but superheroes had a few more than most people, so they had to take advantage of any shred of happiness they could get their hands on. But now, no matter what terrible things may lay ahead of them, at least he and Tim would face them _together_.

He tried to get a grip on his emotions, to try and stay cool because he didn’t want to totally embarrass himself either. Once he was in the shower, he let the warm water distract him, let it run over his skin and wash away his thoughts. He tried focusing on just how nice a shower always felt, but the effect didn’t work for very long. He was only a little better at controling his emotions than Bart was and—

Oh, crap— _Bart_. Bart, Cassie, all the other Titans, Lois, Ma… and Clark.Wow were there a lot of people to tell about this miraculous change, Conner figured. He wondered for a moment if he’d have to break it to _the Batman,_ too. And not the nice Nightwing-Batman who had a soft spot for Titans and family friends, but _THE Batman._ Tim would probably handle telling his family in some roundabout way or another. He wondered if Tim would appreciate the backup, though all things considered, Tim lived with the guy. Saw the big, scary Batman eating his morning cereal and reading the newspaper and mowing grass—okay, no, they probably had people for that, but. Point. It probably wasn’t as big of a deal as it was in Conner’s head.

Figuring he’d spent enough time alone with his thoughts again, he got dressed and went back into the empty living room. Tim hadn’t returned yet, but not everyone had super speed. So Conner just plopped down onto the couch and waited impatiently. Thankfully, he wasn’t left to admire the weird painting on the wall across from him for very long. Tim came out soon after, dressed in a faded red t-shirt and comfortable-looking sweatpants. It would be a hundred times faster and easier to get him out of _that_ than his costume, Conner imagined. But it was probably better to not entertain that line of thought just yet.

“Hi,” Tim said once he came into view. He didn’t try to hide his smile at all and it made Conner’s heart do a silly little flip. Man, did he miss that smile. But now, if he did this whole thing right, it would be a regular feature.

“Hi,” he responded, followed by, “Have I ever told you how good you look in those colors?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Tim said.

“Black’s good on everyone. And red brings out your eyes.”

“Is that the _only_ reason you like it so much?” Tim asked, sitting down next to him. Conner casually slung his arm over Tim’s shoulders in the way he’d been wanting to do since only forever.

“No. But I don’t think you’re ready to hear all the other reasons. There’s probably like, boundaries and stuff.” Not that Conner would really know; he didn’t do well with boundaries and the number of times that it got him into deep shit in the past was higher than the number of times the Titans faced off against evil robots—which was _a lot_.

Tim laughed, a free, happy laugh with none of the weight of the world attached to it. “Since when have we had _boundaries_?” True. Even before… _this_ … they’d been all too comfortable with each other.

“Well, you have a point there.” Which brought Conner to an important topic. “So uh, we should probably talk about… us.”

“Right. First things first, I think we should take this whole relationship thing… uh, slow. I-If that’s okay with you,” Tim started slowly.

“Yeah, no, totally. I agree. Nice and slow. Whatever you’re comfortable with. We’ve got time.” Conner had been trying to go for the totally supportive boyfriend angle, but it ended up coming out awkward. Though Tim smiled in relief so it must’ve meant that it wasn’t so bad.

“And there are so many people to _tell_. Should we tell anyone at all?” Tim wondered.

“You wanna keep it a secret?” Conner wasn’t expecting that, but he could go along with it. There were only about a dozen-hundred reasons as to why keeping it a secret might be a good idea and Conner could live with just one.

“No—that’s not what I meant,” Tim quickly corrected. “I meant that they might just figure it out on their own. But then… why risk miscommunication?”

“It’s probably better to just sit everyone down one-by-one and explain it all.” It was better that their family members and close friends hear it from the actual source than through the grapevine. Though everyone else would hear it through the grapevine and it would take at most a week from now for the entire superhero community to know that Superboy and Red Robin were dating.

“Yeah. It’ll be weird though,” Tim said, running a hand through his still-damp hair.

“Uh, about the Batman angle…,” Conner started. “How are you going to tell Bruce? Do you need backup?”

“Kon, he’s technically my father. And after everything, the least he can do is let me have this—you. I can handle it.” If it all came down to Tim putting _the Batman_ in his place with some stern words, Conner wouldn’t want to miss it. But he also wouldn’t want to get a kryptonite fist to the face and considering how protective Batman was of his Robins—past or present—it was pretty risky. “Telling my family will be… uncomfortable, probably. But I wonder how we’ll tell the Titans.”

“About _that_ ,” Conner started. “They sort of know.”

“What?” Tim’s expression was a mix of genuine surprise and horror. And there wasn’t really any easy way to break it to him, or maybe there was but tact was beyond Conner’s capabilities. So he just settled for getting it all out there in one shot.

“I guess they noticed our _whatever_ and, uh, took bets on how long it would for us to get together. Long story short, Cassie owes Bart twenty bucks now. We should probably let them know.”

“They took bets? Wait—how do you know this?” Tim asked suspiciously.

“When I freaked out and flew to the farm, Bart tracked me down. After knocking some sense into my head he told me all this. It was sort of him who gave me the courage to tell you,” Conner confessed. He owed Bart big time, to be honest. And Lois too.

“To be honest I’m surprised he kept his mouth shut for this long,” Tim said after a while. Bart had a hard time holding in delicate secrets like this, but to his credit he was evidently getting much better.

“He was like _this_ close to exploding, I think. There would’ve been signs and banners, apparently.” Bart had a long history of illustrating things—mostly ongoing conversations—when he got bored or when the world felt too slow. Conner wondered for a minute what Bart might’ve come up with in order to get him and Tim together. All things considered, it probably would’ve been mortifying.

“I don’t doubt it. But at least telling them will be easier now.”

“It’s still gonna be weird. And that goes for everyone.” Conner didn’t even know who to start with.

“It’s alright. We’ll manage.” Tim leaned against him and Conner pulled him closer. “Let’s not worry about it right this second.”

“Yeah. We should focus on other things.” Tim hummed in agreement and they sat in comfortable silence for a little while. For now, they didn’t have to worry about anyone or anything else. The moon outside was their only witness and suddenly Conner couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the way he got to wrap his arms around his best friend.

“What do you want to do now?” Tim asked after a while, though he sounded perfectly content in their current position. They were settled so comfortably against each other that Conner didn’t want to ever move.

“How about we make ourselves something to eat and watch a movie?” Conner suggested. It almost wasn’t any different than what they might’ve done if they hadn’t just made out—twice—but it _was_ different. And that meant everything.

“I think there’s some mac n’ cheese in the pantry.”

“How romantic,” Conner laughed, though he didn’t mind at all. Who didn’t like mac n’ cheese and a movie? It was simple. It was very _them_.

“For our first real date I’ll take you out to somewhere proper, I promise,” Tim said. He leaned up and lightly pressed his lips against Conner’s for a kiss. Conner was unimaginably happy that they could do this—could kiss each other whenever they wanted to now. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He wouldn’t trade this up for the world, not in a million years, no matter what happened. And he knew in the moment, with that gentle little kiss, that he was in this for the long run.

“Looking forward to that.”

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that half the reason the final chapter is so belated is because I didn't want to finish this already! It's shorter than I originally imagined, but I hope makes the whole thing feel more complete and satisfying.
> 
> Thank you all SO much for reading this fic--I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your feedback has been amazing and invaluable. Honestly, I don't know how this turned from a mystery fic to a gushy romance fic, but it seems that no one's really complaining, haha.
> 
> A (quite obvious) sequel is already in the works. My plan is for a long-term series or something. I just hope people are interested!
> 
> A huge round of thanks to my betas for putting up with me and to everyone who's commented, bookmarked, subscribed, left kudos, and shared this work! I would be nowhere without you all! 
> 
> If the spirit moves you, feel free to contact me on my [tumblr](http://nativevoyager.tumblr.com/) or my [email](mailto:dragonmist310@gmail.com) about, like, anything to do with these two dorks. Or anything in general, really.


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